


(   ) a little (   ) of me

by Swira



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Dreamsharing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fanart, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swira/pseuds/Swira
Summary: “You alright?” Hopper asks.“Yeah,” he says, and sees the look Hopper gives him. He sighs, gets a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well.”Hopper hums thoughtfully. “Nightmares?”Steve isn’t surprised by the question; he’s told him about not getting a lot of sleep - because he can’t lie for shit and Hopper is pretty damn good at making people talk, whether they like it or not. He’s kept the worst of it to himself, though. There are other things to worry about.“Kinda,” he lies.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 84
Kudos: 422





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so yeah i refused to put the word 'dream' in my title because i'm petty like that, but also don't have enough imagination to have a title that isn’t some basic bitch lyrics, so.)
> 
> also, no rereading yourself, we die like men

There’s the echo of a scream behind him, Steve’s vision blurry at the edges, darkened, as he finally breaks out of the woods and sprints up to the Byers’ house.

He trips on the steps leading up to the front door, almost falls head first on the hard wood floor but manages to catch himself on the railing. He wastes no time recovering, just opens the door and jumps inside, slamming it shut behind him and throwing his back against it to keep it that way.

He can hear the ugly, wet sounds of the monsters outside, growing closer, their claws digging the gravel of the driveway, their endless rows of teeth snapping around haunting growls.  
His vision blurs even more. It’s as if his eyelids are closing on their own accord, getting heavier by the second, and the more he tries to focus, tries to will them back open, the harder it is to keep them from shutting completely.

His heart feels as if it’s about to explode in his chest, his shirt drenched in sweat and sticking to him. When he hears steps on the porch right behind him, he looks around for something to protect himself with, _anything_. He wants his bat, but his stupid fucking eyes won’t open and let him see properly.

“Harrington?” he hears through the door, and it takes a beat for his brain to realize that demodogs don’t talk.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice strangled, because it seems that, just like his eyes, his throat has decided to betray him.

“ _Fucking_ — it’s _Billy_ ,” he says. “Open the fucking door.”

Steve doesn’t move for way too long. Billy can’t be here. Last time they were here together, Steve ended up with a broken nose and fractured eye socket.

But he remembers the things outside and even if Billy’s not his favorite person in the world, he can’t let him get eaten alive by monsters from another dimension.

He opens the door and blindly reaches for Billy outside, since his vision’s almost completely dark, by now. His hand closes on soft fabric and he tugs, pulling him inside before hurrying to close the door again.

“What’s going on?” he hears Billy ask, sounding pissed off, but he’s listening for the sounds of monsters in the darkness and doesn’t answer him. “Harrington, _what’s_ —”

There’s a loud thud in the room to their left, and Steve’s head whips that way reflexively, even though he can’t see shit. He hears it, though, and recognizes the noise immediately. The groan of wood and the growl of the worst thing he’s ever seen in his life, quickly turning to a roar when its face opens to reveal rows upon rows of teeth.

He hears Billy scream as the monster charges them, feels the floor shake with its weight under him, and his heart pumps ice in his veins.

He wakes up drenched in sweat, not unlike he had been in his dream, the beginning of a scream stuck in his throat.

It takes a couple seconds for everything to fall back into place, for him to recognize his room and make out the shapes of his furniture in the dim lighting spilling in from the windows. He’s not at the Byers’ and there are no demodogs, no demogorgon anymore. He lets himself fall back on his pillow, heart going a million miles an hour, breathing hard.

It’s been a while since he’s had a nightmare this bad.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes out, running a hand over his face and wiping away some of the cold sweat on his forehead.

It’s only when he’s out of the shower an hour later - no use trying to get back to sleep after _that_ , he knows - that he remembers Billy and frowns at his fogged up reflexion. The monsters he was used to, but that was new. Strangely, even with him having beaten his face in, Steve had never had a nightmare involving Billy before. He’d guessed it was because he had other, more traumatic memories of that night for his brain to pick from, and since Billy had pretty much ignored him since then, he hadn’t had a reason to dwell much on it.

He’d have to ask Nancy about the hidden meaning of dreams, sometime.

_Or not_ , he reconsiders, thinking about the last time he’d mentioned not sleeping well, and he’d gotten these worried, pitying looks from almost everyone.

Yeah, better leave it alone.

———

When he gets to school that morning, having just dropped Dustin and Lucas off, he spots Hopper’s police cruiser parked right next to the entrance and frowns. Hopper’s leaning against the hood, a familiar frown on his brow, and he waves him over when Steve gets out of his car. Immediately, worst case scenarios start popping up in his head, but he still forces his feet into motion and ignores the ball of anguish in his gut.

“Hey, Hop,” he greets a little mechanically once he gets close enough. “Everything alright?” He means, _Anything I should be worried about?_

Hopper nods once, like he knows what Steve’s thinking, and he feels his shoulders relax a little. “Nothing serious, don’t worry,” he says. He jerks his chin to the cruiser. “You got a minute?”

Steve nods and climbs in the passenger seat while Hopper rounds the car. Once the doors are closed and they’re in relative privacy, Hopper turns to him and Steve feels something like worry gnaw at his gut again.

“Relax, Steve,” Hopper says. “Told you, it’s nothing like _that_.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve laughs but it’s a brittle, fake little thing. He forces out a breath and takes a compulsory look outside, to the flow of students going through the front doors of the school.

He sees Billy there, leaning against the wall, finishing his cigarette. He looks about as exhausted as Steve feels. Of course, he chooses that moment to look up.  
Their eyes meet and something like confusion crosses Billy’s features before he schools it back into the careful indifference Steve’s gotten used to seeing there these last few weeks.

“You alright?” Hopper asks, making Steve startle and turn back to him as if he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah,” he says, and sees the look Hopper gives him. He sighs, gets a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I just didn’t sleep well.”

Hopper hums thoughtfully. “Nightmares?” he asks.

Steve isn’t surprised by the question; he’s told him about not getting a lot of sleep - because he can’t lie for shit and Hopper is pretty damn good at making people talk, whether they like it or not. He’s kept the worst of it to himself, though. There are other things to worry about.

“Kinda,” he lies. “Also had a lot of coffee yesterday, so that probably didn’t help.”

Hopper doesn’t buy it, from what Steve can tell, but he’s too tired to have this conversation again.

“So, what’s this about?” Steve asks, in an attempt to change the subject.

“Well, _this_ , actually,” Hopper says, gesturing at him.

Steve frowns, and it must show on his face that he doesn’t know what he means by that because Hopper lets out a little sigh, like Steve is being deliberately obtuse.

“I’m here to check up on you,” he says, and that doesn’t really help clear anything up.

“Al- _right_ ,” Steve says, drawing it out. “Well… Thank you? I’m fine?”

Hopper fixes him with another look, one that manages to say _Don’t even try lying to me_ and _I’m disappointed in you_ all at once. Steve shrinks into his seat.

“She was worried about you,” Hopper says, voice softer than he looks. Steve looks up at that, knowing who he means and unable to hide his surprise. “She said you were scared and she wanted someone to check up on you.”

Embarrassment burns hot on his cheeks, and sure, he’d die in a heartbeat for any of these kids, but right now he doesn’t feel particularly fond of their lack of respect for his privacy.

“ _Well_ , I appreciate the sentiment,” he grinds out, “but I don’t really like the idea of her poking around in my head as I sleep.”

“I told her you wouldn’t,” Hopper says. “She won’t do it again.”

“Cool. Can I go, now? I’m gonna be late for class,” Steve asks, hand already on the door handle, looking at anything else than Hopper. When he glances at the school entrance, Billy’s nowhere to be seen.

“Just promise me that if it gets too bad, you’ll reach out,” Hopper says, serious, and before Steve can retort something mean about him not being the greatest conversationalist, he adds, “Doesn’t have to be me, but promise me you’ll talk to someone.”

Steve risks a look at him and finds him staring back, something warm like concern under his usual gruffness. He swallows back the wave of gratefulness he feels bubbling in his throat and nods. Hopper seems satisfied with that and gestures at him that he can go, but once he’s outside the car and ready to close the door, he says, “Steve, one more thing.”

“Yeah?”

Hopper leans over the central console to look up at him. “Could you tell Hargrove to come see me at the station after class?”

That catches Steve by surprise. “Why?” he asks before he’s able to think better of it.

“He’s not in trouble,” Hopper says, rightfully reasoning that that’s what anyone would assume. Steve huffs out a laugh.

“That’s somehow _more_ worrying, Hop.”

“Just tell him to pass by when he can,” Hopper says, a hint of annoyance in his voice as he leans back into his seat.

Steve makes a face. “We’re not exactly best friends, I don’t—”

“You’re going to be late,” Hopper says, clearly meaning _I’m done with this conversation_.

Steve barely has time to push to door closed before Hopper’s tearing out of the parking space, vaguely waving him goodbye as he leaves him there to consider his new task for the day.

He hadn’t really planned on talking to Billy Hargrove ever again, to be honest. He thought he could go the rest of his school days without exchanging a single word with him, and Billy had seemed pretty okay with that too.

“ _Shit_ ,” he mutters, turning on his heels to hurry to his first class.

———

He finds Billy easily. It’s not like the guy is _actively_ avoiding him, he just acts like he doesn’t see him most of the time.

Steve has to take a few deep breaths before he’s ready to round the corner and go talk to him. He’s not _scared_ , has never been, not of him, but he’s entering unknown territory. There’s no protocol for this, he doesn’t know if Billy will be pissed that he’s breaking their silent agreement of never acknowledging each other again, or if he won’t care, or if he’ll snap like he had at the Byers'.

He wills his feet to move and takes the five strides that separate him from Billy’s locker, in which Billy’s head is currently buried as he picks up his stuff.

Billy spots him before he even makes a noise to announce himself, like he’s aware of the space around him and knows if someone enters it. He turns and raises an eyebrow at him. He’s got an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, lighter in his hand, his other one holding a dog-eared copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_. Steve’s eyes catch on it, because he knows they’re supposed to read it for English but he didn’t think Billy actually _would_.

He forces his eyes back to Billy’s. Billy who’s still looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Hey,” he says, dumbly, and wants to punch himself.

Billy’s eyebrows raise noticeably before a lazy smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Steve sees the calculated indifference drop from his face like a curtain and just like that, it’s like he’s back to his normal, asshole-self. Like there wasn’t a month of them not talking in between that.

“Miss me?” Billy says, propping an arm on his locker and cocking his hip, leaning forward, towards him.

Steve refuses to move back, won’t give him the satisfaction, so he just narrows his eyes at him.

“The chief of police wants to speak to you,” he says.

He sees the arrogance vanish off of Billy’s face in an instant, sees his shoulders tense. Up-close, he can really see the bags under his eyes. They’re not so different from his own.

“Went and ratted me out, uh?” Billy says, hard, all trace of fake-friendliness gone from his voice. He doesn’t move, though, doesn’t lash out. Yet.

“I _didn’t_ ,” Steve says. If he had wanted to press charges he would have done it a month ago.

“Yeah?” Billy drawls. “And why is that, that right after you have a nice little private chat with him in his car, I end up in trouble?”

Steve almost rolls his eyes. “You’re not in trouble,” he says, echoing Hopper. “He just told me he wanted to see you, I don’t have anything to do with it.”

He sees Billy’s eyes search for the lie in his face and glares right back at him. He’s got a hint of anger in there, the sparks that would light the fire if Steve so much as said the wrong thing, or if he saw something he didn’t like etched into his features.

“ _Sure_ ,” Billy says after what feels like minutes but was probably only a couple seconds. And just like that, he turns his back to him, slams his locker shut, and starts walking away.

The sound makes a few heads turn his way, and Steve cringes when he starts to hear whispers. He doesn’t need more high school rumors about him, thank you.

“Are you going to go?” he still asks Billy’s retreating back, because Hopper seemed pretty adamant that he come. He only gets a middle finger thrown over his shoulder for his trouble.

He grits his teeth, keeps himself from doing something stupid like run after him, and turns to leave the other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry for any typos, it's like 3 am, and also there are probably missing italics in there because ao3 has decided to hurt me and won't let me paste my formatting, not that you'll necessarily notice, but *I* know, and it's killing me)


	2. II

“Let me out, please. Listen, I promise I won’t do it again, just— _please_ , I can’t be here.”

It’s the panicked, desperate rambling that draws Steve further into the police station, following the familiar voice until he gets to the holding cells.

Hopper is there, arms crossed, face closed off. He’s looking at the person that’s in the first cell in front of him with such _disdain_ that for a second, Steve hesitates to get near him. He’s never seen Hopper like this.

“Please, I swear, I won’t cause any more trouble, but you _have_ to let me go—”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Hopper snaps, and it’s booming and terrifying. Steve’s so taken aback by the tone that it takes him a while before he thinks to look in the cell to see who could be on the receiving end of so much anger.

Billy’s hands are gripping the bars hard enough that his knuckles are turning white. He’s drenched in sweat, shaking, his eyes wild and terrified unlike Steve’s ever seen before.

“Billy?” he asks, his voice raspy like he hasn’t talked in a while. Billy’s eyes snap to him, and he looks so _relieved_ to see him.

“ _Harrington!”_ he says hurriedly, switching his grip on the bars so he’s facing him instead of Hopper. “Please, tell him to let me out, I promise I won’t—”

“Didn’t I already told you to _shut up_ , son?” Hopper barks, and his voice is weird. It doesn’t sound like him at all. Steve startles, gives him a wary look.

“Hop, what’s going on?” he asks.

Hopper doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on Billy, keeps his arms crossed. “I’m making sure this one doesn’t cause any more trouble while he waits for his parents to pick him up.”

That seems to send Billy into full-on panic mode. “ _No!_ Please! Harrington, please!” he says, shaking the cell’s bars like he might be able to dislodge them. “ _I’m sorry_ , alright?! Tell him! I’m sorry I hurt you!”

Steve frowns, confused and unsettled by how _scared_ he is.

“I didn’t tell him to arrest you,” he says without thinking.

“Didn’t have to,” Hopper cuts in, this time from right behind Steve’s ear. Steve who whips around, cold sweat running down his back at the pure hatred dripping from his voice. “Would have gotten arrested one day or another, anyway.”

“… What?”

Hopper’s eyes are hard as ice as he finally takes them off Billy to look at him, and Steve is frozen in place.

“You’re not Hopper,” he says.

The next second, there’s a hand closing around his throat, an arm pushing into his chest, bruising, trapping him against the cell.

“ _What did you just say to me, son?”_ Hopper growls threateningly, only it’s not him anymore, it’s someone Steve’s never seen. Shorter, leaner, but with eyes so much more dangerous.

“Nothing, he didn’t say anything, _please_ ,” Steve hears Billy say from behind him, voice so small.

Steve can’t breathe, feels his vision blur, darken at the edges. His limbs are made of lead, he can’t even raise his hands to try and dislodge the hand that’s cutting off his air supply.

“Now, let me teach you about _respect_ , son,” Not-Hopper says in a low growl, and he slams Steve into the wall.

Steve sits up in bed with a loud, strangled gasp, the ghost of a hand around his throat and the phantom pain of his cracked skull still fresh in his mind.

He looks around at his room then down at his shaking hands, gripping his sheets hard enough to tear.

“Fuck,” he breathes out shakily. " _Fuck._ "

He gets out of bed and makes his way to his bathroom feeling like his legs are made of cotton, has to sit down to take a breath after he’s done splashing cold water on his face.

That was new. Maybe he _should_ ask Nancy about the hidden meaning of dreams, because this one definitely needs explaining.

He sits there for a while, trying to figure out where he could have seen that man who Hopper had turned into at the end. He doesn’t remember ever seeing him before. Probably a random face in an ad or on a poster somewhere, but he’d been so fucking _real_ , so terrifying.

Steve doesn’t know if he likes him better than the demogorgon, to be honest.

———

Billy corners him as he’s making his way to the cafeteria to meet up with Nancy and Jonathan. The bags under his eyes still match his own, and Steve’s reminded of what he had looked like in his dream, pale and terrified.

He doesn’t look terrified _now_ , though, quite the opposite in fact, as he shoves him against a row of lockers.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” Billy growls, low and dangerous. He hadn’t looked that pissed even when he’d been punching his face in.

Steve swats at the hand he’s got gripping his collar but Billy barely moves, keeps close, crowds him in.

“ _Fuck off,_ Hargrove,” Steve snaps. “What the hell’s your problem?”

Billy’s eyes are icy, with none of the fire they usually hold showing through.

“What makes you think you have any right to stick your nose in my business, uh?” he asks, shoves him again for good measure.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve hisses. He shoves right back, hoping to make him step back enough to be able to gain some ground, but when his hands collide with Billy’s chest, Billy immediately shrinks back with a pained grunt, and Steve’s eyes widen.

Billy swears through gritted teeth, apparently in enough pain that he doesn’t even think to keep his guard up, eyes screwed shut and arms curled protectively around his chest. Steve’s anger deflates as quickly as it had risen and he reflexively extends a hand towards him.

“Hey, are you—”

Billy’s eyes snap open and he takes a step back, baring his teeth, icy glare nailing Steve in place. There’s a flash of fear there, fast as lightning - Steve would have missed it had he not been so close.

“ _Fuck you_ , Harrington,” he snarls. “Mind your own fucking business.”

And then he turns and stomps off, leaving Steve to stare at the empty space he occupied a second earlier, head buzzing with about a million questions.

———

“Do you think you could give Max a ride, too?” Lucas asks as he jumps into the back of his car, even though Max is already sliding in next to him.

“Sure,” Steve says instinctively, already starting the car, then frowns at her in the rearview mirror. “Did Billy ditch you?”

Her eyes darken dangerously and she looks out the window. “He wasn’t there this morning,” she says. “I had to skate to school.”

There’s a low whistle. “That’s a long way to skate,” Dustin says, twisting in the front seat to look at her. “I thought he was being less of a dick since you’d threatened to nail his balls to the floor?”

Steve’s brain does a double take on that. “Wait, _what?”_

Max ignores him, just rolls her eyes dramatically. “He didn’t _stop_ being a dick. He was just… Less obvious about it, I guess.”

Lucas sniffs disdainfully. “Well, looks like he’s back to being obvious about it.”

And Steve doesn’t know why he asks, but he can’t keep thinking about the pain on Billy’s face when he’d pushed him, about the hint of fear beneath the fury in his eyes, so he says, “Did something happen? I mean, he _seemed_ fine yesterday…”

Three pair of eyes land on him and he suddenly feels very stupid for talking. The only one who doesn’t seem entirely judgmental is Max, but even she looks weirded out that he cares at all.

“You two _talk?”_ Dustin asks, bewildered. “Wait, you know which _Billy_ we’re talking about, right?”

Steve hits the lid of his cap so it falls over his eyes, and Dustin protests loudly. “We don’t _talk_ , but Hopper had a message for him, so I passed it on,” he says, even adds a shrug to emphasize the fact that the’s not making a big deal out of it.

“What was the message?” Lucas asks, because of course he’d want to know. Hell, Steve kinda wants to know too.

“He just wanted to see him, I don’t know anything else,” he says.

He glances back at Max again and finds her looking outside, her brow furrowed as if she’s deeply lost in thought.

“Well, he’s probably in trouble for assault, or something,” Dustin says nonchalantly. “It’s him, so it could be pretty much anything.”

Lucas snorts. “Arrested for fashion crimes.”

Dustin bursts out laughing and they both start trying to one-up each other with crazier reasons for which Billy could be arrested, filling the car with laughter and chatter. Lucas is the first one to be dropped off, leaving them with a wave and an enthusiastic _See you tomorrow!_ to which Max barely responds, her eyes still fixed on the nothingness outside the window.

It’s calmer with Lucas gone, and even though Dustin has no problem filling the silence on his own, he eventually quiets down when no one tries to help him keep up the conversation.  
Steve would usually be more than happy to trade one-liners with him, but he’s starting to feel the exhaustion from two nights of bad sleep in a row catch up with him, and he knows he’s basically an old man but all he wants to do is go to sleep as soon as he gets home.

They stop in front of the Mayfield/Hargrove household, and Steve has to clear his throat for Max to realize they’re here. She flushes slightly and thanks him before slipping out. Steve can’t help but notice there’s no sign of the Camaro in the driveway, only an old pick-up truck he doesn’t recognize.

Max is almost inside and he’s about to peel away from the sidewalk when he sees the front door open, revealing a man wearing a white wife-beater and jeans. He has hard eyes that he first lays on Max - who just about freezes on the porch in front of him - then he looks up and his gaze immediately locks onto Steve, as if he could smell him from all the way over there. Steve feels the blood drain from his face.

It’s the man from his dream, the one that hit him so hard it woke him up.

“Steve?” he hears Dustin ask, but he doesn’t really register it.

The man looks at him for another couple seconds, then looks back at Max. He says something and she nods, gestures vaguely at the car, but they’re too far away to hear. When he looks back up at Steve, it’s to give him a single, short nod, then he slips inside with Max and the door closes.

Steve can breathe again.

“Hey, Steve, you okay?” Dustin’s voice finally reaches him, and he blinks a couple times, zoning back in.

“What? Uh, yeah,” he says dumbly, not even really trying to sound convincing.

“Dude, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Dustin says, concern lacing his voice, and Steve immediately feels bad for making him worry.

“Sorry,” he winces. “It’s just… Uh, have I been here before?”

The question takes Dustin off-guard, and he looks at him like he’s maybe starting to doubt his sanity.

“No..? At least, not with me, I don’t think,” he says slowly. “You sure you’re okay?”

Steve forces the tightness in his throat back down, smiles, a little strained, but he makes it honest enough for Dustin not to question it. “Yeah, sorry, just had a weird… _Dashavoo_ , or whatever.”

“I think you mean _déjà vu_ ,” Dustin says condescendingly, and the judgment in his voice is enough to finish pulling Steve out of his daze.

“I know what I mean, dipshit,” he says without heat, starting the car up again and finally driving away.


	3. III

“Fucking Christ, Max, I swear to _God_ —”

Steve follows close behind Billy, watching as he struggles not to slip on the sand and she keeps tugging on his arm, pulling him behind her.

The sun is blinding, white seeping into the edges of his vision, making it fuzzy. He’s sweating, but it’s not unpleasant. He doesn’t have a shirt on, only swimming trunks; lets the heat soak into his skin, warm him up comfortably.

“Max, _slow down,_ ” Billy says, annoyed, as he loses his footing again and almost face-plants on the beach. Max doesn’t seem to have any problem walking. She keeps going, doesn’t even look back at him.

“Maybe let go of her hand?” Steve offers, and Billy startles, looks at him over his shoulder.

“What? No,” he says, almost offended. Steve wants to laugh but he’s not sure Billy wouldn’t get mad at him over it. Eventually he does it anyway when Billy almost falls _again_.

“You clearly can’t keep up,” Steve says. “Just let go, she’ll be fine.”

Billy’s getting winded. Steve can see the sweat running down his back, over his golden tan.

“What if something happens to her?” Billy asks, surprising Steve with how sincere he sounds. “I said I’d watch over her. I can’t let her— I can’t.”

He’s slipping up more and more, and Steve feels the change in the air around them. The sun is too bright, turning everything white, burning his shoulders. Billy’s panting, but Max keeps tugging more, harder and harder, and she’s almost dragging him behind her at this point.

“Billy, you have to let go,” Steve says.

“What did I tell you about watching your sister?” a familiar voice growls, coming from further away on their side, and when Steve turns he expects to find the ocean, but there’s just cement, hard and gray and cold, and the man - Not-Hopper, Billy’s dad - is standing there, arms crossed.

Billy trips, falls, gets dragged over the burning sand over a few feet until he manages to get up again. “I am!” he says, almost sobs. “It’s her! _She’s_ fucking it up, she’s—”

“What kind of man can’t even stand up to a little girl?” the man growls, and almost knocks into Steve when he strides towards them, catches Billy with a hand on the back of his neck.

Billy freezes, his whole body tensing. He lets go of Max and she vanishes into whiteness. Steve sees the muscles of his back ripple and shiver as the man pulls him close so he can breathe against his cheek.

“Now,” the man says - whispers, but Steve hears it as if he was speaking into his own ear, is frozen in place all the same, “you’re gonna go find your sister. Like the good, kind, _respecting_ brother that you are.” He tightens his grip on Billy’s nape, nails indenting the skin. “Isn’t that right?”

Billy nods, almost imperceptible. “Yes, sir.”

The man lets go, and there are bruises on Billy’s neck the shape of his fingers. Steve can’t breathe.

Billy turns around and looks at him, eyes hard, empty. Steve doesn’t know what to say, suddenly feels cold, and the sweat that he found pleasant not long ago freezes over his skin. The sun is gone, there’s no sand under his bare feet anymore, only wet mud.

Then suddenly, something lights up in Billy’s eyes and he grins, wolfish.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” he asks, taking a step towards him.

They’re in front of the Byers’ house. There are monsters in the woods.

Steve looks around them, feeling panic rise in his throat.

“We have to get inside,” he says. Billy’s grin falls, slowly replaced by a frown.

“What?”

Steve grabs his arm and tugs, tries to make him _understand_. They can’t stay there. His vision is starting to darken at the edges, his eyelids heavy. He tugs on Billy’s arm but he has no strength.

“Harrington, are you okay?” he hears Billy ask, and Steve can barely make out his silhouette.

“ _Hurry up_ , get inside,” he pleads, and after what feels like hours, Billy finally moves, finally lets himself be pulled inside the house.

Steve closes the door behind them just as the sounds of growls and claws in the gravel start to echo in the night.

“What the fuck is that?” Billy asks.

Steve needs his bat, but he can’t see anymore. He reaches blindly for it on the ground, feels nothing but carpet. He makes a helpless noise, because he _knows_ what’s coming next, it’s always the same thing—

“You lookin’ for that?” 

He feels a handle under his hand as Billy holds the bat in front of him, waits for him to grab it.

His vision clears just enough for him to see the contours of Billy’s face. He’s kneeling in front of him, concern written on his face. Steve barely even has time to feel relieved before there’s the familiar groan of wood, the sound of it popping and splitting open around the body of the demogorgon.

They both turn to face it, both frozen in place as it straightens, opens its endless mouth and roars, the sound piercing, making everything rattle, making the lights blink out.

Billy screams, the monster charges, Steve slams the bat on the side of its face.

He still feels like his arms are made of glass, like he has no strength, but the hit is enough to make the thing stagger, to gain them some time. He can’t see, though, barely knows where the monster is in front of him. Billy’s yelling something, but it’s drowned out by the screech of the demogorgon as it gets back up to its full height. 

It closes its mouth around Steve’s head, and Steve wakes up screaming.

———

“You look like hell, Steve.”

He laughs around a mouthful of mashed potatoes, but it’s forced. “Thanks, Nance.”

“I’m _serious_ ,” she says, exasperated in a very motherly way. She lowers her voice, “Are you having nightmares again?”

_They never stopped in the first place_ , he thinks, doesn’t say it, because he’d told her and everyone else that they had. In reality they’d just gotten manageable.

Well, that was before they got worse again, of course - and started getting weird on top of it.

He should really just shut up about it, but Nancy’s looking at him over the table with her big, gentle eyes that are full of fondness and saying, _Steve, you big dumb idiot_ , and he’s too tired to argue with her.

He sighs, stares down at his half-eaten meal. “It’s not exactly _nightmares_ ,” he says, dragging his peas around on the plate, “it’s more like, really _weird_ stuff.”

It’s a half-truth - _leaning on the lying side_ , Dustin would argue - because, while the new stuff _is_ perplexing, he still wakes up drenched in sweat and terrified. Doesn’t matter if its of a random guy throwing him around or a demogorgon.

“Weird how?” she asks.

And maybe he could tell her about everything, maybe he should. She’s so fucking smart, she’ll probably figure out why his brain is throwing all this shit at him in half a second.

He just has to admit that he’s been dreaming about Billy Hargrove out loud. No problem. Sure.

“It’s—”

His words stay stuck in his throat, and it’s only partially because he doesn’t want to talk about it. The main reason is that Billy - of course its him, _of fucking course_ , just his fucking luck - just entered the cafeteria with perfect timing. Steve’s eyes are immediately drawn to him, but to his credit, a lot of people turn around too when a breeze of whispers goes through the crowd at the sight of Billy’s fresh black eye. One glare is enough for everyone to go back to their own business, though.

But not Steve, because he’s tired and doesn’t think fast enough to avoid crossing Billy’s gaze. He expected the same death look he’d given everyone else, but instead he sees him pause, the darkness clearing off his face for an instant and revealing a layer of confusion over familiar, bone-deep exhaustion. It lasts a second before he tears his eyes away and walks off like it never happened.

He goes to sit with Tommy and Carol, and Steve hears Tommy’s low whistle even if he can’t make out what he says next. Billy grumbles something back, and Nancy waves a hand in front of Steve’s face, forcing him to look back at her.

“Steve!” She says it like it’s not the first time she’s called his name in the last twenty seconds.

He blinks. “Sorry, what?”

She looks at him, puzzled pout on her lips and soft concern in her eyes.

“You really _are_ tired,” she says finally, and Steve feels himself flush with embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, even though he knows she won’t buy it.

“What’s so weird about those dreams, uh?” she presses on, ignoring him.

He keeps himself from reflexively looking over at Billy again and sighs. “I’ll tell you later, alright? Not in the middle of the cafeteria.”

For a second, she looks like she’s going to argue, but then her shoulders sag with a sigh. “Fine,” she says, but she gives him a look to let him know he’s not off the hook. “After class?”

He nods and dives back into his tasteless potatoes, only to have something else to do than look over at Billy or flush with shame under Nancy’s pitying gaze.

———

He was half-hoping that Nancy would drop it, or that he’d be able to leave without running into her, but of course, she’s already standing next to his car when he gets out, and _of course_ , Jonathan is with her. This day keeps getting better.

Steve sighs, steels his shoulders and walks over to them, shooting Jonathan a tight-lipped smile when he sees him and gives a little awkward wave. Nancy turns around and smiles too, and Steve sees she’s holding Jonathan’s hand.

He doesn’t feel the same bitterness he used to at seeing them together, but it still tugs at something in his chest. He’d like to think it’s his ego, but he knows it’s more the fact that he still hasn’t dated anyone else since her, and it definitely feels like he’s missing something. He doesn’t want to think about it, though. Doesn’t need more reasons to feel sorry for himself

“Hey,” he says, clipped because he can’t help himself. He stops in front of them, nods at Jonathan. “Didn’t think you’d be there too.”

Nancy startles, like she hadn’t thought for a second that this could be awkward. “Is it a problem? I’m sorry, I thought—” she cuts herself off, gesturing helplessly between him and Jonathan. “Since you said you had nightmares, I assumed it was about the Up—… About _what happened_ , you know. And we’ve all had trouble dealing with that, so I thought— I thought Jonathan could help.” 

She’s not angry at him for not wanting Jonathan to be there, she’s not even subtly guilting him for being an asshole who can’t get over his ex - which _isn’t_ even the case, alright? He’s not jealous of him, he’s just— jealous of _them_. Of what they have. And isn’t that just way sadder?

Nancy looks so apologetic, looks at him like she’s betrayed his trust or some shit. It’s worse, actually. Like she’s treading carefully to avoid hurting his feelings, like he’s going to break.

“It’s fine, Nance,” he says, tired, wanting to go home.

“I can leave, if you want,” Jonathan says.

Pity from Nancy is already hard to stomach, but pity from him? It takes a lot of willpower for Steve not to look up at the sky and ask what he’s done to deserve this.

“It’s fine,” he repeats, even though it’s not. He didn’t want to talk about his nightmares in the first place, and now he’s got an audience. Better get this over with quickly. “They’re just weird dreams, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“What do you dream of?” Nancy asks nonetheless, all concern and big doe eyes.

He sighs, stuffs his hands in his pockets. He’s aware he’s stalling, thank you, but he’s also too tired to give a damn. He pushes a hand through his hair and his eyes land somewhere above Nancy’s shoulder, in the trees. They stay there when he talks.

“Billy’s there. I’d never dreamt of him before, and now, all of a sudden, it’s been three nights in a row.”

There’s a silence that’s a beat too long, and when he dares a look at Nancy he finds her with her eyebrows raised to her hairline, flush spreading on her cheeks and her mouth open in a slight ‘o’. He immediately gets the feeling she misunderstood something.

“That’s, uh… Surprising,” she says finally, struggling to keep eye contact, obviously wanting to be anywhere else than here right now, and suddenly Steve’s brain catches up with what he said and _oh my God_ , he wants to die.

“ _Wait_ , no! _No,_ not like _that!”_ he says hurriedly, frantically shaking his hands in front of him, feeling like his face is catching fire. 

“I mean it’s _fine_ , Steve, don’t worry,” Nancy say quickly, gentle even through her embarrassment. “You can’t control your dreams, and even then—”

“ _Billy Hargrove?”_ Jonathan asks, dumbfounded, like he’s just now snapping out of his shock.

“Oh my _God_ , please shut up!” Steve says, voice a few octaves too high, hoping to God no one in the parking lot can hear them. He hurries the rest out before he has time to humiliate himself even more, “It’s not _that kind_ of dreams, okay? Jesus Christ.”

They both let out a breath at that, something like relief crossing their faces, and Steve groans, hiding his eyes behind his hand, wishing for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” Nancy starts, apologetic, but she snaps her mouth shut when Steve looks at her through his fingers.

“Just, let’s— let’s _never_ speak of that again, alright?” he sighs, feeling impossibly more exhausted than he had when they’d started talking. “Like I said, it’s not important.”

“You’re obviously not sleeping well, Steve,” Nancy says, ditching the gentle tone and taking a step to put herself between him and his car when he moves to open the door. “Tell me, please. Maybe we can figure something out.”

He almost, _almost_ snaps at her, but when he looks at her to do so, all his frustration deflates in the face of her concerned frown. She’s just looking out for him, even if he hates it, hates apparently being the only one of them who needs looking after. But he wants to get some fucking sleep, and she can probably help him understand why he’s been dreaming of Billy, of all people, so.

“It’s just random shit,” he says, leaning against the car behind him and waving his hand dismissively. “The police station, the beach. Billy’s there, and his—”

He stops before he says _his dad_ , doesn’t know why. The shape of the bruises on Billy’s neck is still clear as day in his mind, the feeling of having his skull bashed against a wall still there if he focuses. He’s not sure he could say it out loud if he tried, it’s as if the man himself is breathing down his neck. It makes no sense.

“There’s this man who scares him,” he says instead, around the ball in his throat. “He scares me too, in the dreams.”

Actually, he scares him in real life as well, but he’s not exactly ready to talk about that particular episode just yet.

“So Billy isn’t the one hurting you?” Nancy asks. Steve shakes his head, frowns even though it’s a fair assumption.

“It’s always the two of us against something else. The man, or the demogorgon at Jonathan’s.”

Her and Jonathan trade a look, and yeah, they’re probably familiar with _that_ part. Hard not to remember the thing. Again, he doesn’t want to think about it.

“Look, do you have any idea why I’m dreaming of him? Does it mean something?” he asks, a little too harshly, but Nancy doesn’t seem to hold it against him.

She takes a moment to think, gaze lost somewhere on the collar of his shirt.

“From what I know, dreaming of specific people doesn’t necessarily _mean_ anything,” she says, but when she sees Steve deflate she quickly adds, “But it could! I mean, I’d have to research it, but maybe you’re… Worried about him?”

Steve immediately thinks of the flash of fear he saw in Billy’s eyes the day before, of the fresh bruising on his face at lunch. He still has no idea what Hopper wanted with him.

He nods, slowly. “That… Could be it,” he says, almost to himself. “I mean, he’s not looking great, right now.”

She smiles at him, so affectionate that for a second he’s back to the early days of them, when she used to say _You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington,_ and mean _But I like you anyway._

It’s been a while since he’s thought of that. It doesn’t hurt as much, anymore.

“Save your worries,” she say, patting his arm patronizingly. “The guy is an asshole, Steve. You don’t need to stress yourself over him.”

“Yeah, if you start now, it’ll never end. He’s always getting in trouble, it’s nothing new,” Jonathan adds, the words reminding him of Not-Hopper. It makes his fists close tightly at his sides, something tighten uncomfortably in his gut.

“Well, I mean, I can’t exactly tell my brain to drop it, can I?” Steve grumbles.

“Just think very hard of that time he broke your nose right before you go to sleep?” Nancy offers, only half-joking.

But Steve has a better idea.

He offers the best smile he can manage right now, knowing they won’t let him leave if they’re not convinced he’s doing at least slightly better.

“I’ll try. Thank you,” he says sincerely. “Now, I’m late to pick up Dustin and Lucas, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

They both look like the sudden change of subject is giving them whiplash, but Steve doesn’t wait for an answer before he slides into his car.

“Uh, sure,” Nancy says, leaning into the open door. “Take care, alright?”

He smiles, and it’s not as forced as he thought it would be. He waves the two of them goodbye as he tears out of the parking lot.


	4. IV

Since he doesn’t see any kind of conversation with Billy going well right now, Hopper is his next best bet. So after dropping Dustin and Lucas off - both of them complaining that Max actually has a ride of her own, today - he goes to the station.

Florence eyes him suspiciously over her glasses when he crosses the threshold. He gives her his best smile, the one he keeps for his parents’ friends and his teachers.

“Hi, Ms. Goldburg,” he says, charming, polite, as he comes to stand in front of her desk.

“Save it, Harrington,” she says flatly, already going back to whatever it is she’s typing. “What are you doing here? Not getting into any more trouble, I hope?”

He feels embarrassed at even _trying_ the Golden Boy act on her. She knows better. He drops it immediately. “Uh, is the Chief here?”

She doesn’t look up to answer him. “He’s in his office. Knock before you go in.”

“Thank you, Florence.”

He tries not to draw any attention to him as he crosses the bullpen, but luckily, the two officers present are deep in conversation with an elderly man and don’t even turn to look at him as he walks by them.

He knocks a couple time on Hopper’s door and hears a sigh coming from inside, followed closely by Hopper’s gruff voice,

“Come in.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s having a very good day. Steve’s already starting to regret coming.

“Hey, Hop,” he greets a little mechanically as he slides inside the office.

Hopper looks up at the sound of his voice, clearly surprised at seeing him there. “Hey, kid. Everything alright?”

Steve shuts the door behind him, cringing slightly at the worry in his voice. “Yeah, no, it’s— I’m fine.”

Hopper gestures at him to sit down, forgetting all about the file he was reading a minute ago and giving Steve his whole attention as he complies.

“What can I do for you?” he asks, then his lips thin and he shifts a little in his seat. “Is this about… What we talked about?”

It takes Steve a second to remember what he means, to realize he must have assumed Steve was here to _talk_ , and he almost laughs at how uncomfortable Hopper looks. It’s nice that he’s willing to put himself through it nonetheless, though.

“No, no, it’s not—” he starts, then clears his throat. “Well it is _kind_ _of_ about that, but not really.”

Hopper gives him a flat look, managing to say, _You’re gonna have to be clearer than that, kid,_ with only his eyebrows. It’s impressive.

“I wanted to ask you about Billy,” he says, and realizes as the words leave his mouth that this is going to be harder than he thought.

Hopper sighs and leans back in his chair, closing off a little, suddenly looking ten years older. “Depends on what you want to know,” he says.

Steve hesitates, not knowing which words to pick to get Hopper to talk. “I just… I’m worried about him.” Better go with honest, Hopper would know if he was lying anyway.

Hopper raises an eyebrow at him. “Really? Because last time I checked, you two weren’t exactly best friends.”

Steve cringes at that, hearing his own words thrown back at him.

“It’s true, we’re not,” he admits. “But… He looks about as tired as I feel, and that can’t be good.” He freezes when he realizes that was maybe a little _too_ honest. He didn’t mean to reveal so much about himself, coming here.

Hopper considers him for what feels like minutes, then he lets out a sigh that sounds like it holds a lot.

“Look, son,” he says, leaning forward with his arms on his desk and fixing Steve with a serious look. “That Hargrove kid has his own shit to deal with, and I can tell you’re coming from a good place, but it’s not my place to tell you about it, okay?”

Steve’s mouth opens around a protest, but Hopper raises his hand in front of him, effectively shutting him up.

“Would you want me telling him about _your_ issues, if he asked?” he says flatly, unimpressed. Steve flushes and falls back in his seat, almost pouting. “That’s what I thought. Now, what I _can_ tell you is that I made him promise me the same thing as you, alright?”

_Promise me you’ll reach out._ Steve’s eyebrows shoot up at that. He didn’t expect Billy to ever accept any kind of help. But then again, he didn’t expect him to _need_ any help in the first place.

He looks back at Hopper who’s waiting for him to says something, so he nods, slowly.

“Good,” Hopper says, grabbing a stack of papers in front of him and hitting it a couple times against the desk. “If you want to know anything more, you’ll have to ask him.”

“Yeah, _right_. Will do,” he huffs, but Hopper ignores it.

“You’d be surprised at how much you two have in common,” he says, getting up to put the papers away. “Starting with the fact that I have to spend way too much time looking after you.”

He says it like its a chore, but Steve knows better. He can tell that Hopper cares, he’s just really bad at showing it.

“Thanks, Hop,” he says sincerely, smiling at him. Hopper rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Anything else you need?”

He looks at Steve like he had in the car, with soft concern under hard features, meaning _Are you okay?_

And he didn’t exactly get the answers he wanted, but if Billy’s got Hopper looking after him, well, maybe that’s enough. Maybe Steve’s subconscious will leave him alone and let him get some rest.

He shakes his head.

“Nothing. I’ll leave you to it.”

———

That night, Steve is dozing off on the couch watching a rerun of some obscure soap opera when the doorbell rings and makes him jump out of his skin.

He checks the time and confirms that no one should be here right now. His parents aren’t coming back for another two weeks, he’s home alone, and he immediately thinks that he’s going to get murdered.

He still goes to the door, and when he checks the peephole he lets out a relieved breath before swinging it open.

“Henderson, it’s a school night, what the _hell_ are you doing here,” he says flatly, glaring at him until he sees Ms. Henderson waving at him from her car in the driveway and plasters on a huge smile to wave back.

Dustin’s already ducked under his arm and is taking his shoes off when he answers, “Act natural, I told her you were helping me with a school project.”

Ms. Henderson rolls down her window and sticks her hand out to wave even more. “Have a good night, Dusty!” she yells. “You too, Steven! Thank you for offering to help him! I want him in bed by eight!”

“Of course, Ms. Henderson!” Steve says. “You have a good night!”

He keeps waving until she’s out of view, then he slams the door and turns to Dustin.

“ _What the hell, dude?”_ he hisses. He’s suddenly hit with the horrible idea that something really bad might be going on and feels a cold chill go down his spine. “ _Please_ tell me you didn’t lose another demodog.”

“Steve, my man, _relax_ ,” Dustin says, rolling his eyes like Steve is overreacting - which he’s _not_ , alright? This is a very appropriate reaction given the life they’ve been living these last few months. “First of all, _rude_. The loss of Dart is still fresh in my heart—”

“ _Wha_ — He _ate_ your _cat!”_

“And _second of all,”_ Dustin goes on like he hadn’t said anything, “I’m just here to spend some _quality time_ with my _best friend Steve!_ Do I need a reason for that?”

He awkwardly claps him on the shoulder and Steve levels him with the flattest look he can manage.

“Nancy put you up to this?” he asks.

“What?! _No—_ Okay, yes. But!” he raises a hand between them when Steve starts rolling his eyes. “ _But_ , I still want to spend some quality time with you, okay? I came here on my own volition.”

Steve doesn’t know wether to be touched or offended. He’s leaning more towards the second option, right now, if only because he doesn’t like Nancy sticking her nose in his business and sending a literal child to look after him, no matter how fond he is of said child.

“It doesn’t _matter_ , Dustin,” he says through gritted teeth, getting a hand through his hair and finishing messing it up. “You have school tomorrow, we’re not having a sleepover.”

Dustin sniffs haughtily at him. “Well _too bad_ , because I’m already here, and I bought snacks, so you can either enjoy them with me or go to bed right now and miss out on the party.”

Steve watches him stomp off into the living room and stares dumbfoundedly at the space where he stood. _He’s_ the babysitter, _he’s_ supposed to be the one sending people to bed.

He wants to scream, let go of some of that pent up frustration, but he ends up just letting out a very long breath instead, forcing his shoulders to relax.

He’s being a dick. Nancy just wants to help, _Dustin_ just wants to help - _and_ have a sleepover on a week night. This is just them caring in their own, overbearing way.

He goes to the living room and finds Dustin sitting on the couch with his legs drawn up, munching on a chocolate bar, eyes determinately fixed on the screen that’s _still_ displaying that terrible show. He’s definitely not watching it, then.

Steve comes to sit beside him and waits a couple seconds, waiting to see if Dustin’s planning on acknowledging him.

When he doesn’t, he sighs, says, “I’m sorry, okay?”

Dustin doesn’t answer, but Steve sees him raise an eyebrow in a silent indication to keep going. He rolls his eyes.

“I’m _sorry_ for being a _jerk_. Is that what you want to hear?” Dustin still doesn’t move. Steve throws his hands up in frustration. “I wasn’t expecting you, alright? and I’m fucking _tired_ , and it makes me irritable, so _sorry_ I took it out on you, _O great Dustin_ , god of forgiveness.”

Dustin finally turns to him, humming thoughtfully. “Mh, could use a little work, but I’ll accept it.”

Steve can’t help but laugh. He hits Dustin in the shoulder with one of the couch pillows and he starts giggling, protesting weakly when Steve uses the distraction to snatch a bag of Skittles out of his selection of snacks.

“Hey! I didn’t say you could have some!” he says. “You haven’t won your snack-eating privileges back yet!”

“Oh yeah? And how are you gonna stop me, uh?” Steve says smugly as he pops a handful in his mouth.

Dustin smacks him in the face with a pillow, sending Skittles flying everywhere, and bursts out laughing when Steve gets him in a headlock.

“Oh it is _on_ , Henderson!”

———

Steve watches as Lucas pushes Max in the pool and smiles when she comes back out of the water screaming.

Steve can’t see the forest that surrounds the house, it’s too bright to make out anything beyond the pool. He likes it that way.

The kids are noisy, so are the couple other people milling around, some holding beers, some smoking, all of them having a good time. Steve can hear some music, but it’s faint, and it’s something he doesn’t recognize anyway.

“Fancy ass house you got there, Harrington,” someone says right next to him.

He doesn’t startle, he’s too relaxed for that. He looks up from where he’s sitting on one of the sunbeds, and Billy’s there, holding a beer, cigarette dangling from his mouth and lazy smile on his lips. He looks good, better.

“Thanks,” Steve says. Maybe he was supposed to take offense, maybe Billy meant it as an insult, but he doesn’t want to start a fight. “You look good,” he adds, because it’s true.

Billy’s eyes light up, and his smile turns into a grin, showing teeth. “Yeah? You don’t look too bad yourself, Harrington.”

Steve flushes. He hadn’t meant it like _that_ , but now he can’t take it back, and he doesn’t know how to deal with Billy’s answer. Luckily for him, Billy doesn’t look like he expects him to.

He sits down next to him, forcing him to shuffle over a little bit to make room, but even then, their thighs are still touching. Billy’s skin is warm, almost burning. Steve stares at the cigarette held between his lips.

“You smoke?”

His eyes snap to Billy’s and he realizes he’s been caught staring. He looks back at the pool.

“No,” he says.

Dustin has a bag of red shoe strings and he’s offering some to Mike and Will, even though they’re in the pool. They know they’re not supposed to eat in the pool.

“Here,” Billy says next to him, and when Steve turns, he’s offering him his cigarette.

Steve takes it, doesn’t think before he brings it to his mouth and pulls. It doesn’t burn, nothing. It barely has any taste.

He looks back at the kids. Will and Lucas are ganging up on Mike, pushing him underwater and giggling. Max jumps in to help him.

He feels Billy shift next to him, where he’s pressed against his bare thigh, and looks at him again. Billy’s eyes are going from guest to guest, like he’s cataloguing them. He takes a swig from his beer and Steve’s eyes are draws to where his lips press to the can. Condensation transfers from metal to skin.

With the hot sun beating down on them, it looks refreshing.

“Steve,” Billy says, and once again, Steve’s been caught staring.

Billy’s eyes are blue. He knew that, but he’d never really looked long enough to note it. His lips are red, wet from the beer, and they stretch into an easy smile.

“Here,” Billy says, sliding a hand on the back of his neck, his fingers combing through his hair as he pulls him forward and presses his lips to his.

Steve’s heart is hammering against his ribs, he inhales sharply though his nose. He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes, but now it’s only the feel of Billy’s mouth, warm, on his own, the weight of his hand on his neck, the press of his nose against his cheek, the brush of his eyelashes on his cheekbone.

He hums against him, shifts slightly and his lips part, only a little, but its enough to feel the wetness of Billy’s mouth.

Steve makes a noise when Billy moves back, leaves him cold where he’s not touching him anymore.

“Relax, I’m not going anywhere, pretty boy,” Billy says, smiling. It’s true, Steve can tell, can see it in his eyes.

He looks back to the pool, watches the kids laugh and splash around bathed in soft sunlight. Billy’s hand is warm on his knee.


	5. V

When he wakes up, it takes a moment for Steve to remember where he is. He doesn’t see his room’s awful wallpaper, there’s no moonlight coming in from his window and he's _definitely_ not on his bed.

Then his brain reconnects and he remembers Dustin inviting himself for a sleepover.

They fell asleep in the living room, makeshift bed on the floor for Steve and Dustin drooling on the couch. There are plastic wrappers scattered all around them and the TV’s still on, but the sound has been lowered.

Steve sits up groaning, because even all the pillows he stuffed under himself aren’t enough to make his floor confortable. And yet, he still feels more rested than he has in days.

There’s faint sunlight coming in through the curtains, but he still checks the time on the VCR, because he can’t believe it. He slept through the whole night.

_Oh God_ , he slept through the whole night.

“ _Shit_ , Dustin, wake up! You’re gonna be late for school!”

He jumps to his feet, gets them caught in his sheets and nearly kills himself by falling head-first on his coffee table.

Dustin’s voice comes out muffled where he’s burying his face in his pillow, “Who cares.”

“ _I do!”_ Steve retorts, voice too high as he struggles to free himself from his blanket. “Your mom is gonna kill me!”

Dustin still doesn’t move, so Steve says, “She’s never gonna let you come over again, dipshit.”

That does it. Dustin shoots out of his blanket cocoon like he’s been burned, all wild hair and wide, panicked eyes.

“What are you waiting for?! Let’s go!” he screams, already running out of the room.

Steve curses under his breath, hopping into his pants from yesterday and not bothering to change out of his wrinkled sweater before he’s following behind Dustin. He almost collides with him when he comes running back in the other direction, yelling, “My backpack! I need my backpack!”

“Then go get it! Hurry up!” he hisses, grabbing his keys and shrugging on a random jacket.

Their departure is chaotic, to say the least, but once they’re both in the car and Steve checks the time, he allows himself to relax a little. They should be on time.

“Did the alarm not go off?” Dustin asks, still a little breathless from their frantic running around.

“I—” Steve starts, then cuts himself off.

He didn’t set one up.

Well, he didn’t think he would _need_ to, since he’s been waking up at fuck-o’clock in the morning for the best part of the week.

“I forgot to set it up,” he says instead.

“Seriously, _dude,_ ” Dustin groans. “This is traumatic. I’m never trusting you with that again.”

It’s better than having to explain the truth, so Steve doesn’t care.

He’s not even mad that he hasn’t had time to do his hair or put on fresh clothes; he got his first full night of sleep in days. Its worth all the teasing he’s probably going to get.

On the downside, he can barely remember what he dreamt about. _Of course_ his asshole brain would recall every single detail of his terrifying nightmares, but as soon as it’s nice, it forgets to hit record.

He thinks he was at the beach, or the pool, maybe. Somewhere sunny and warm. Every time he tries to focus, though, the memory fades away.

“You seem awfully cheery for someone who looks like they just got out of a fight with a blow dryer,” Dustin grumbles, narrowing his eyes at him.

Steve chuckles, shrugs. “I guess I just slept well.”

Maybe it was Dustin being there that did it, or maybe it was the talk with Hopper, it doesn’t matter. It worked.

Dustin knows what he means, and his grumpiness vanishes, his face brightening with the satisfaction of a job well done.

“Good,” he says, pleased.

Steve offers him a smile, hoping he can tell how grateful he feels.

Dustin looks very smug. 

———

“Christ, what happened to you, Harrington?”

Steve lets out a sigh. All good things come to an end, and he’s accepted his fate. He’s ready to watch his good mood fly away as he turns to face Billy, expecting the mockery. But when he looks at him where he’s leaning on the locker next to his, he only finds a playful grin and blue eyes sparkling with amusement.

Billy looks better than he had yesterday. Better than he had the day before, even. The black eye is still there of course, but it’s less swollen, and the bags under his eyes look shallower. He’s also not shoving Steve into lockers and threatening him, so that’s an improvement too. Must be in a good mood.

And _fuck_ , even with a black eye, Billy looks good, from the hair down to the outfit. It’s not even anything special, just a white tee tucked in his usual tight pants, a jean vest— it’s like he’s not even _trying_ and still manages to look better than everyone else in the school. It’s unfair. 

Steve’s almost embarrassed by his own disheveled look, in comparison.

“Had a fight with a blow dryer,” he says to answer his question, channeling Dustin.

Billy’s smile widens.

“Still picking fights you can’t win, uh?”

And Steve should probably get offended, probably _would_ have only a day ago, but right now all he can do is bark out a laugh, because, well. It’s kind of funny.

Billy’s eyes _light up_ with mirth at the sound, and Steve feels himself flush incomprehensibly. It’s like hearing him laugh is the one thing Billy had been waiting all day for, which Steve immediately realizes is a ridiculous thought and pushes it back, back where it came from.

“You need anything?” he asks, because he knows he’s blushing and wants to deflect the attention from himself. He hopes he doesn’t sound too much like he wants out of the conversation; it’s rare enough having Billy being nice, he doesn’t want to ruin it so fast.

But Billy just tilts his head to the side to look at him through his lashes, smile receding back to something lazier, more familiar. It’s still real, though.

He hums, eyes briefly dipping down to the books Steve is picking out of his locker before coming back to his. “Where’s your place?”

Steve chokes on his spit.

“ _W-What?_ Why?” he sputters.

Billy just chuckles like he’s enjoying the hell out of this.

“Don’t get any ideas, pretty boy,” he says, grinning wickedly and running his tongue along his teeth. Steve’s cheeks are burning up, and _damn you Nancy_ for putting the idea of a naked Billy Hargrove in his mind in the first place. “I just need to know so I can come pick up the gremlin, tomorrow.”

Steve’s brain is slow on the uptake, but he finally remembers that he’d agreed to host the kids’ weekly D&D night at his place tonight.

The Wheelers had a dinner and Joyce deserved a break, so when he’d heard the kids complaining about Lucas’s sister always bothering them when they played at his house, he had offered. He hadn’t really thought about it, just opened his big, dumb mouth, and almost instantly regretted it when the kids had started bouncing excitedly on the backseat of his car.

With the week he’d been having, he’d entirely forgotten about that, even with Dustin coming over the day before.

“Uh,” he says dumbly, then remembers Billy’s still waiting on an answer and clears his throat. “I mean, you don’t have to. I could drop her off myself, it’s no problem.”

At the same time that he realizes that, given their history, this sounds a lot like he doesn’t want Billy knowing where he lives, Billy’s eyes lose some of their pleased glint, his smile faltering imperceptibly.

“ _Come on_ , Harrington. I promise I won’t break in anytime soon,” he says, too-sweet.

_Okay_ , maybe Billy shouldn’t act so _offended_ when a guy whose nose he broke isn’t too keen on giving him his address, but like, that’s really not what Steve meant.

_Wow_ , he’s just great at expressing himself, these days, uh?

“It’s not that,” he says quickly. “I’m just saying, it _really_ doesn’t bother me to drop her off at yours. I’m going to take the others to the arcade tomorrow morning anyway, so it’s not even like I’ll be going out of my way.”

He’s rambling a little, he knows, but it’s hard to focus with Billy’s intense gaze fixed on him as he talks, and he doesn’t want to look away and make him think he’s lying for his sake.

When he’s done, though, something in Billy’s face has softened back, so it must have worked.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he shrugs, finally tearing his eyes off of him, and Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Just make sure she doesn’t die or whatever.”

And that’s all it takes for Billy to put Max in Steve’s hands. He barely has time to wonder if it’s either because he doesn’t care that much in the first place or because he actually trusts him, because Billy’s already walking away.

“ _You’re welcome,”_ he calls after him, rolling his eyes, because apparently he has no survival instinct.

Billy doesn’t even flip him off this time; Steve’s sort of disappointed.

———

Steve picks up Dustin, Max and Lucas right after school, and Nancy drops Mike - and some of her mom’s casserole - off a little later on. In passing, she gives Steve a smile like she knows what she’s done and has no qualms about it. He has trouble being mad at her, though, when he’s still riding the high of his nine hours of sleep.

He expected Jonathan to park in his driveway next, but when he comes out to greet him it’s actually Hopper, with Will and El climbing out of his cruiser before he’s even fully stopped it.

“Hey,” Steve says, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. The word isn’t even out before the kids make a beeline for the door and disappear inside. He looks back at Hopper with raised eyebrows. “I didn’t know El was coming.”

Hopper sighs, “Sorry, I would have given you a heads up but this was kind of a last minute decision.”

“It’s no problem,” Steve shrugs. “At this point I don’t think I’ll even notice the difference with one more kid, I already feel like there’s twelve of them.”

Hopper doesn’t laugh - rarely does - but he gives a grateful nod.

“She can also go to the arcade tomorrow,” he says, then levels him with a serious look, “as long as you can make sure they stay out of trouble.”

Even with the vague threat, Steve can’t help but smile at what he’s implying.

“She’s official, then?”

Hopper tilts his head. “Almost. I’m finishing up the adoption paperwork, should be done by next month. _Jane Hopper_.”

It’s easy to see the glint of happiness in his eyes, hear the pride in his voice even though he’s working hard to play it cool. Steve breaks into a grin.

“Well, congrats, Hop. I’m happy for you.”

Hopper waves a dismissive hand, uncomfortable as always as soon as things get too emotional.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I want her home by two tomorrow, and that is non-negotiable,” he says, pointing warningly at Steve, makes sure he gets it.

Steve gives him a two-fingered salute, says, “Will do, Chief.”

As Steve goes back into the house, he almost bumps into El, who’s standing in the middle of the hallway.

“ _Jesu—_ Hey, El.” He winces as he catches himself. “Everything alright?”

She stares at him intently for a couple seconds, then says, “You’re better?”

It takes a beat to click, but then he remembers.

_She was worried about you._

He’d told Hopper that he didn’t really like having anyone intruding on his thoughts, had even been kind of a dick about it, but now that he’s got her in front of him, big eyes full of unabashed concern, he can’t bring himself to feel anything but fondness.

“Yeah, I’m better,” he says, offering a small smile.

El’s own lips quirk at the edges and she nods once, satisfied with the answer, before turning on her heels and walking into the living room.

He follows her, entering right at the moment Max lets out a very earnest, “ _Shit!”_

“No swearing,” he says, but it’s more out of habit than anything. He’s given up, by now.

She ignores him, frowning as she digs into her backpack for a little while longer before letting out a long groan.

“ _Shit,”_ she repeats, and before Steve can get offended she says, “Hey, I forgot my PJs home. Do you mind if I ask Billy to bring them here?”

He doesn’t even think about it, just shrugs. “Sure, no problem.”

She jumps to her feet and runs to the phone as Steve sits down next to Dustin on the couch.

“So what’s your character this time?” he asks to make conversation, knowing full well that he’s not going to understand a single word of what follows.

As predicted, Dustin launches into a very enthusiastic rant about his character’s powers and various abilities, and Steve makes sure to hum and nod in all the right places. There are a lot of things he’ll do in the name of friendship, but understanding the rules of D&D is simply beyond his capabilities.

“Hey, I forgot some stuff,” he hears Max say, and distractedly latches onto her voice. “It’s in a bag on the floor next to my bed, can you bring it here?”

She pauses for a beat. Lucas starts protesting something that Dustin said, derailing the conversation.

Steve can _hear_ the eye-roll in her voice when she says, “ _Yes_ , he does. You’re not that scary, you know.”

“Wow, would you two calm down?” Steve says, cutting Dustin and Lucas’s argument short. “Is it really that important? What’s so special about these… _Buzurkers_ , anyway?”

“Berserkers,” Lucas and Dustin both say, exchanging a condescending eye-roll. Steve would get offended, except they’ve now stopped screaming in favor of patronizingly explaining what a Berserker is to him, and it's exactly what he was hoping for.

“Are you going to bring me my stuff or not?” Max says impatiently.

Steve looks at her just in time to see a pleased smirk appear on her face, then she rattles off his address and hangs up.

“Steve!” Dustin says, making him turn back to the rest of them.

“Uh?” he says dumbly, seeing as they’re all looking at him expectantly. “What?”

“Can we get pizza?” Lucas repeats.

“Well, Mike’s mom sent some food—” he tries, because he’s supposed to be the responsible one, but that immediately elicits cries of disgust from everyone else in the room.

“No! _Please_ , her casserole is _awful!”_ Mike whines.

And Steve should argue, if only out of respect for Ms. Wheeler, but he can’t deny that her eggplant casserole isn’t the best thing out there.

He sighs, defeated. “Sure, let’s go for pizza.”

He spends way too much time trying to get everyone to tell him what kind of topping they want, and even _more_ time arguing with Dustin over anchovies. By the time he’s managed to write the order down, the doorbell is ringing and he’s more than happy to leave the chaos of the living room.

“Fancy ass house you got there, Harrington,” Billy says as soon as he opens the door, and something snaps back in place in Steve’s brain.

He feels his face burn up as memories of the previous night’s dream suddenly flood his mind. Billy saying, _You don’t look too bad yourself, Harrington._ Billy’s hand in his hair, on his knee.

Billy kissing him.

This is all Nancy’s fault.

“Thanks,” he squeaks out helplessly, fighting hard to keep himself from looking at Billy’s mouth.

Billy merely raises an eyebrow at him before holding up a small backpack. “Max’s stuff.”

Steve immediately jumps on the occasion to busy himself with something and takes it, giving him a grateful smile. “Thank you. Sorry you had to make the trip anyway, in the end.”

Billy shrugs, pulls on his cigarette one last time before throwing it away. “No problem.”

The words are out before Steve can stop them, because it’s polite and because he’s flustered and nervous and can’t help but run his mouth. “Do you… Want to stay for a bit?”

He wants to strangle himself. He _knows_ Billy doesn’t want to stay, he knows the _kids_ don’t want him to stay, what is _wrong_ with him—

Billy laughs, but it’s not as mean as Steve expected it to be.

“Not that I wouldn’t _love_ to stay for a wild round of whatever board game you guys are playing,” he says playfully, “but I’ve got other plans for tonight. Because I’m a _normal person_ and I don’t spend my Friday nights hanging out with a bunch of kids.”

Steve barks out an incredulous laugh. “ _You_ , normal?” He shakes his head. “Yeah, sure.”

Billy’s grin widens, turns a little devilish at the edges as he leans against the doorframe and into Steve’s space. He seems to be doing that a lot, recently.

“Come on, Harrington,” he croons. “Ditch the kids and come with me.” 

And it _really_ shouldn’t have the effect it has on Steve, but he can’t help the way his stomach flips over and his breath catches, the way his eyes lock onto Billy’s tongue when he pokes it out the corner of his mouth.

“There’s a party at Tina’s, someone’s birthday or whatever— it’s not important,” Billy goes on, waving his hand dismissively, probably mistaking his silence for hesitation. “What’s important is that there’ll be tons of free booze.”

Steve cringes, snapped out of his transe by the mention of Tina. Last time he was at one of her parties, he got dumped, and not in a nice way.

He’s about to say he’s not going to ditch the kids when Billy’s eyes snap to Steve’s left and widen slightly, his smile faltering.

Steve turns, curious as to what could possibly give Billy pause like that, and finds El standing right there, looking up at Billy with her unfaltering gaze. He didn’t even hear her approach, as if she’d just materialized out of thin air.

“Oh, El— _Hello_ , Jane,” he says, cringing at his own recovery. “Did you need something?”

El doesn’t acknowledge him, just keeps staring at Billy in that weird way she has, like she’s seeing right through him.

“Have I seen you before?” Billy asks, frowning.

She opens her mouth, and for a second, Steve thinks she’s going to say something that’ll be very hard for him to explain, but then she just says, “Max’s friend,” and he breathes out in relief.

Billy still looks puzzled for another beat, until he hums in acknowledgment. “Right.”

El smirks and leaves just as she came, without a word, and Steve is left wondering what the hell that was about.

“I’ll get going,” Billy says, drawing his attention back on him. He’s pulled out another cigarette and lights it as he says, “Make sure Max is home by eleven, she’s got this thing with her mom and I can’t have her be late.”

“No problem,” Steve says, shoving his hands in his pockets to escape the chilly breeze flooding through the open door.

Billy looks at him, plants his eyes in his with newfound intent. “ _I’m serious_ ,” he says, and something in his face tells Steve that he really, really is.

Steve nods slowly, curious as to what could be so important to warrant that kind of insistance, but smart enough not to ask.

“Yeah, sure man,” he says sincerely.

Billy humphs - his way of saying thank you, Steve guesses - then leaves without another word.

When he comes back into the living room after a detour by the phone to order their food, Dustin is wrestling with his TV set.

“Aren’t you guys supposed to be fighting trolls, by now?” he asks, not even bothering with a remark about manners and not punching someone else’s electronics.

“They’re playing Ghostbusters, tonight,” Will says enthusiastically.

“But Dustin can’t figure out how to work a TV, so maybe we won’t be watching it after all,” Max says.

Dustin immediately snaps - in a way that tells Steve they’ve been having this argument for a while now, “I know how to make it work! I’ve done it a million times! It’s just Steve’s TV that’s possessed or something.”

Steve rolls his eyes, already sensing a headache coming on but still feeling a smile tug at his mouth. 

“Here, let me,” he says, pushing Dustin aside. “It’s not _possessed_ , alright? You just have to talk to it nicely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have never played d&d in my life and it shows


	6. VI 1/2

All over again, it’s the forest, the Byers’ house, the sound of monsters in the dark.

Steve slams the door shut behind him, heart slamming against his ribs, shirt sticky with sweat, darkness seeping in his eyes.

“Steve!”

His gaze snaps up, and it’s only when he recognizes the blurry silhouette of Dustin that he realizes he was expecting someone else. When he narrows his eyes, tries to see through the fog clogging his vision, he sees that they’re all here. Lucas, Will, Mike, Max—

“Stay away from the windows,” he says, panic seizing his throat.

They shouldn’t be here, it’s too dangerous.

He reaches blindly for the bat he knows is around here somewhere.

“Here,” one of the kids says, pushing it in his hands.

He takes it, but his grip is weak, his fingers numb.

There’s the creak of wood, the dull thud of the demogorgon hitting the floor, the hiss of its mouth opening.

Steve stands between it and the kids, swings the bat once, twice. Hits nothing. He can feel tears of fear and frustration at the corners of his eyes.

Someone screams his name, he can barely make out the edges of the monster as it slashes at him, sending him flying through the living room.

His ears ring, his whole body throbs with pain.

His vision is suddenly crystal clear, but only so he can watch, helpless, as the demogorgon charges the kids, endless mouth closing around them.

He barely manages to catch the scream rising in his throat as he wakes up.

Luckily, he’s in his room, in his own bed, and not with the kids downstairs. Nothing to explain if they don’t know it happened.

“Fuck,” he mutters, almost more frustrated than terrified. He’d talked to Hopper, he wasn’t home alone; he was supposed to _sleep_ tonight. 

He had never truly expected it to be an instant fix to his problem, but he had hoped that it would _at least_ get better.

He didn’t dream of Billy, this time. Maybe that’s a step in the right direction. It doesn’t really feel like it, tough.

Nancy would probably tell him getting better was a process, or something wise like that, but he doesn’t really feel like listening to his mental version of her, right now.

He gets up, shedding his sweat-soaked t-shirt in the hallway as he goes to take a shower.

When he comes out half an hour later with a towel wrapped around his hips and feeling slightly better, he almost dies of a heart attack right here and there.

El is standing in the middle of the hallway, her silhouette set against the soft light coming from the stairs. She’s wearing her oversized pajamas, dark curls a mess atop her head. Her eyes are bright and alert and she’s staring right at him.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , El, don’t do that,” Steve hisses, putting a hand over his racing heart.

“Bad dream,” she says. Not a question.

Steve lets out a deep sigh.

“Yeah,” he says, seeing no point in lying to her. “It’s okay though, you can go back to sleep.”

She frowns and he feels very exposed, all of a sudden. Wishes he had something else than a towel to cover up.

“You go back to sleep,” she says firmly.

Steve awkwardly shuffles his feet, clearing his throat. “Listen, I, uh… I’m not really tired, anymore, alright?”

“Liar,” she says accusingly, and Steve has never felt so threatened by such an innocuous word.

“Okay, I _am_ tired,” he admits, flushing with shame. “But I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

Her eyes are piercing, but full of concern. “Why?”

He gives her a tired look.

“You know why. Hopper told me you’ve been snooping around in my head.”

She looks a little sheepish at that.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“It’s okay,” he says, awkwardly waving her apology away. Christ, he already feels guilty for even bringing it up. “As long as you don’t do it again.”

She nods, and he thinks she might leave it at that for about half a second before she says,

“Go to sleep.”

He chuckles, humorless. “I’ll try.”

“ _Do, or do not, but there is no try_ ,” she retorts, with weird intensity. Steve stares at her.

“O- _kay_ ,” he says slowly. “Can I go put on some pants, now?”

She nods, seemingly satisfied, and how is this his life, asking a thirteen year old permission to get dressed?

“Okay, good night,” he says, a little too quickly, before ducking into his room.

He keeps the door open an inch so he can hear her when she finally goes back down the stairs. Once she does, he allows himself to breathe easier again.

He puts on fresh clothes and changes his sheets, and once he’s done he actually lies back down instead of going to mill around the house to evade sleep. He doesn’t want to disappoint El - again, _how is this his life_ \- and has a feeling she’d know if he didn’t listen to her, anyway.

It takes a while, but eventually, he feels sleep come back to him.

———

  
There are a lot of people. His kitchen and living room are full, making it hard to even navigate through them. The house is filled with chatter and laughter, the sounds of beer bottles clinking.

He can hear someone humming an upbeat song he doesn’t recognize, but the voice sounds a lot like Max. Somehow it’s audible even over the commotion of the party around him.

He doesn’t hold parties anymore, but this is alright. He feels warm and hazy and there’s a hand around his arm, making him turn around.

It’s Nancy, and her shirt is covered in red punch. He freezes.

She starts to talk, but someone talks over her, louder, sliding an arm around his shoulders and leading him away.

“There you are, Harrington!” Billy says, leaning into him, his breath ghosting over his cheek. He’s a line of warmth all along his side.

Steve looks at him, has to crane his neck to do so because he’s so close. He’s got red lipstick smeared all over his mouth. He’s grinning.

“Come on, let’s ditch these clowns. Come with me,” he says, voice low, eyes sparkling.

He leads Steve outside, Steve following blindly because he can’t tear his eyes off his mouth.

They end up in his backyard, next to his pool. The forest is endless in front of them.

Steve feels his heart pick up, is sure he sees something moving through the trees—

“Relax,” Billy says, and when Steve snaps his eyes back to him he’s sipping on his beer, watching the trees too, but not scared of them.

Steve’s eyes go to his lips again. He’s stared at them before, he knows, and yet he’s still as absorbed by the movement as he was last time. Condensation going from glass to skin.

“You kissed me,” he says.

Billy smiles, showing teeth.

“Yeah,” he says, smug.

“Why,” Steve says, tearing his gaze away from the lipstick to look at Billy’s eyes. So very blue.

“Because I wanted to,” Billy says, like that’s all the explanation he needs.

There’s a sound in the woods and Steve wants to leave, wants to lock himself in the house, wants—

He feels something nudge his hand and when he looks down, Billy’s holding out his bat.

“Would having this make you feel better?”

Steve reaches for it, stops himself.

He says, “You should keep it.”

Billy looks surprised. Says, “It’s yours.”

“I can’t fight for shit.”

Billy throws his head back, laughing. The sound is clear, happy.

“That you can’t, Harrington,” he says, tilting his chin in agreement. It could have been mocking, but when Billy looks back at him, his eyes are nothing but playful. He gives the bat a pat. “I’ll keep it safe for you.”

Steve feels himself relax.

“Yeah, alright.”

They stay by the pool. Somewhere, Max is still humming.

  
———

  
“Steve.”

He groans, burying his face deeper in his pillow to escape the consciousness he feels seeping back into his body. Someone tugs at his sleeve and he lets out a very long sigh, hoping it sounds as annoyed as he feels.

“ _What?”_ he grumbles. Whoever it is can wait. It’s Saturday, and he’s going to sleep in whether they like it or not.

“Steve. Billy is here.”

He looks up. El is standing next to his bed. Her face is somber.

“What?” he asks, because he can’t have heard that right.

“Billy is here,” she repeats.

Steve’s brain, still muddled with sleep, has trouble making sense of what’s happening. He frowns.

“I told him I would drop Max off,” he says, sitting up in his bed. He lets out an irritated breath. “Jesus, if he _forgot_ —”

“Hurt,” El says, cutting his threat short. He looks at her.

“What?”

And now he can see that she looks pretty upset, balled fists at her sides and hard look in her eyes. There’s anger there, but its wrapped around worry.

He knows better than to question her, so he gets up and trudges down the stairs to the front door. When he opens it, Billy’s right there in front of him, and they both jump a little.

Billy looks bad. Like, 'got in a fight with a Berserker' _bad_.

The bruise around his eye, the one that had just started looking better, is swollen again, along with his nose, and he now has an ugly cut along his cheekbone to go with it. There are red smears around it and under his nose, like he’s been wiping at it, and he’s got a hand pressed against his stomach, like he’s going to spill his insides if he doesn’t apply pressure to it.

His eyes look scared, vulnerable, for about two seconds, before he manages to find his composure again and gets this fake, nonchalant expression instead. There’s a slight tremor to his fingers as he drops the hand that was about to ring the doorbell.

“Change of plans, Harrington,” he says, like everything about this is normal. “Tell Max to get ready.”

Steve ignores him completely, eyes wide as he takes in all the damage.

“Are you alright?” he asks, realizes as he says it that it’s a stupid question. Switches for, “What happened?”

Billy’s eyes harden.

“Mind your business,” he says. A warning.

It’s obvious that this isn’t Billy being _Billy_ and getting in a fight. Billy _likes_ fights, and as far as Steve knows, he doesn’t lose them.

Fights don’t leave him shaking and jumpy, don’t leave him looking defeated in that heavy, bone-deep way. Fights he would be happy to brag about.

There’s more to this, Steve just knows it.

He remembers Hopper and that exhausted, sad sigh he let out before telling him, _That Hargrove kid has his own shit to deal with._

“I can’t do that,” Steve says, setting his shoulders. His mind is made up.

Billy bares his teeth. They’re pink with blood.

“Don’t make me break your nose again, Harrington,” he growls. “I’m taking Max home, whether you like it or not.”

“You— _What?”_ Steve gapes incredulously. “This isn’t about _Max_ , Billy! You need to go to the hospital!”

Billy looks surprised by that, recoils imperceptibly. It’s gone in a flash, tough, and the sneer comes back in full-force.

“I don’t have time to argue with you, Harrington,” he hisses. “Either you go get Max, or I’m coming in and getting her myself.”

And Steve can tell that he isn’t getting anywhere, that he’s only making Billy angrier, inching closer to lashing out. He just doesn’t fucking know how to get to him.

It takes all his willpower to push down his frustration, make himself calm down enough to come up with something that’s less susceptible of getting him a black-eye.

“Look, I’m not… You don’t have to tell me what happened, alright?” he says, gentle, voice low - it’s a miracle the kids haven’t come running at the noise they’re making, already. “I just— I just want to help.”

Billy’s narrows his eyes at him. If he hadn’t been so hurt, Steve probably would have been shoved against a wall by now.

“And I don’t care what you want,” he says lowly, but the pain he’s obviously in is starting to seep through the mask.

He looks weary, under the threats. His aggressive facade slipping, as he’s undoubtedly too tired to keep it up.

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” he says, almost sighs. “Just tell Max to pick up her stuff.”

And Steve sees it, the hint of desperation in the back of his eyes, the urgency. The unsaid _Please_.

It’s so unlike him, Steve doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Okay,” he says softly. Billy’s shoulders relax slightly, then immediately draw back up when Steve adds, “On one condition.”

“ _Jesus Chri_ — I’m not going to the hospital, okay?! How do I need to tell you—”

“Let me look take a look at that cut,” Steve says quickly, before Billy can lash out. He gestures vaguely at his middle. “And at… whatever other injury you’re hiding.”

Billy looks taken aback for the second it takes him to hide it again. He sneers, “I don’t know what you’re not understanding in what I’m saying, Harrington, but I don’t have time to play nurse.”

He’s mentioned _time_ a lot since the beginning of this conversation. It’s easy to tell he’s scared of something.

Steve isn’t enough of an asshole to keep him here, not when he looks like that, but he also can’t let him leave in this state without doing anything.

Because apparently he gives a fuck about Billy Hargrove, now.

“Just—” he starts, pauses when he thinks about what he’s about to say and can’t believe it himself. “Just come back, then. Once you’re done.”

Billy opens his mouth around a retort or a question, he doesn’t look like he knows himself, but Steve continues before he gets to voice it.

“Take Max, drop her off where she needs to go, then come back. We’ll disinfect and stitch whatever need stitching.”

He has no medical training, is almost certain he can’t stitch for shit, but anything is better than leaving it at that, which seems to be what Billy’s settled on in terms of treatment.

“Wh— What? Why the fuck would I do that?” Billy asks, and the bewilderment would almost be funny if it wasn’t coupled with narrowed eyes and bared teeth.

Steve snaps, because he’s getting tired of arguing his way into _helping_.

“Because if you don’t, I’m calling _Hopper_ , and I’m sure he won’t be as arranging as me.”

It’s a low blow, but he knows he guessed right when he sees the expression on Billy’s face. Not one of fear, but of shock.

Billy isn’t scared of Hopper, he’s scared of Hopper taking him to the hospital.

Because Hopper _cares_ , and Steve still doesn’t know why, but that isn’t important right now.

“I won’t ask, okay?” he says, softer. He can do that, even if not knowing what’s going on is frustrating. “I don’t care what happened—” _Lie_. “—but you need to get that cut cleaned up properly.”

He watches Billy’s throat work, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he looks at him, blue eyes burning. He thinks he’s going to turn on his heels and leave, like he just realized that this isn’t worth it after all. Maybe punch him before that.

But eventually, Billy huffs out a breath. It sounds like defeat.

“Whatever. Just go get Max already.”

It’s worrying that he’s backing down that easily - not _that_ easily, if you ask Steve, but easily considering this is _him_ \- and Steve can’t help but feel a little guilty for strong-handing him into accepting his help.

He’s not changing his mind now, though.

He goes to find Max.

The living room is silent, except for the kids’ snores - well, _Dustin’s_ , really - and he thanks God for small mercies. He doesn’t want an audience for whatever’s going on, and Billy probably doesn’t either.

He tiptoes around Mike and Lucas’s sleeping forms to get to the mop of red hair he sees poking out of a pile of blankets and shakes her gently.

She grumbles something that sounds a lot like an insult, and Steve makes a face.

“Max,” he whispers, shaking her a little more forcefully. “Get up. Billy’s here.”

He finally sees her eyes open, still fogged up with sleep. She frowns up at him.

“What?”

Next to them, Lucas makes a displeased noise, and Steve panics a little.

“Please,” he says, with feeling, hoping Max can read the look in his eyes. “Billy says you have to get home right now.”

Something crosses her face, like realization, and she sits up as if she’d been burned. She sluggishly rubs at her face.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll just grab my stuff,” she says, voice still rough from sleep but tight with tension, and Steve nods, grateful.

She hops over Will to get to the pile of bags in the corner of the room and Steve leaves her to it as he goes back to the front door.

He can’t help but freeze when he sees El, standing on the doormat in front of Billy, head tipped back to look at him.

He’d completely forgotten about her.

Her back is turned to him, but Billy’s looking at her, wide-eyed and a little paler than he was when Steve left.

“What did you say?” he asks, almost a whisper. It’s not threatening, quite the opposite, actually. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

Steve shakes off his surprise and takes the couple steps separating him from them.

“Hey, Jane,” he says with fake cheerfulness. He still feels the need to protect her from this, even though she was the one to tell him in the first place. “Why don’t you go in the living room with the others, mh?”

El ignores him. There’s a sad tilt to her brow, something that looks too old for her.

She reaches forward, catches the hand that’s hanging limply at Billy’s side, making both him and Steve startle.

“ _Sorry,”_ she says, too sincere to be talking about scaring him just now.

Billy’s lips part, but nothing comes out. His eyes are full of questions, and Steve can relate, even though it seems like Billy still knows more about what’s happening than him.

El gives his hand a squeeze, like emphasis, then lets go and takes a step back.

Max stumbles into the hallway at the same moment, her eyes widening when she sees Billy. She hasn’t even changed out of her pajamas, which confirms Steve’s suspicion that she also knows something he doesn’t, or else she wouldn’t have hurried so much.

Billy snaps out of his daze, features schooling back into something deliberately flat when he sees Max.

He starts to turn, but Steve catches his wrist. Billy’s eyes snap back to his, the beginning of something cutting on his tongue.

“ _Like we said_ , alright?” Steve say softly, hoping that maybe Max can’t hear him. Hoping it doesn’t sound like a threat, because he doesn’t mean it like that. He just wants Billy to come back, make sure it’s not worse than he looks. He wouldn’t actually call Hopper, but Billy doesn’t know that.

Billy’s lips thin. He makes a sound that could mean _Yes_ just as much as it could mean _Fuck you_ , but Steve lets him go nonetheless.

Billy doesn’t say anything else, just turns and walks over to his car. Max follows behind him without a word.

The Camaro tears out of the driveway and Steve stays there, standing in the cold morning air until he can’t see it anymore. Until El tugs at his sleeve.

He looks down at her, finding her with determination in her eyes.

“He’ll come back,” she says. Steve envies her the certainty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to go on but i had to split this bad boy up in two cause it was getting too crazy
> 
> (that fucking conversation was so HARD TO WRITE OMG BILLY WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS)


	7. VI 2/2

  
Convincing the others to hurry up so Steve can drop them off at the arcade and be back home before Billy is a _hassle_ , and that’s putting it mildly.

Dustin throws a pillow at him when he tries to shake him awake, Lucas accuses him of violating the Geneva Convention and Mike complains that Saturdays are for sleeping in, and Steve would agree on that, only it doesn’t help his case. The only one that’s nice about it is Will, because he’s an _angel_ and Steve’s new favorite, now.

When they inevitably ask about Max, Steve mumbles something about Billy, resulting in them cursing him out for picking her up so soon. It makes something sour twist in Steve’s gut.

Eventually, though, all it takes is one, “I want to go now,” from El to make everyone jump out of their beds.

Steve changed his mind, _she’s_ his favorite, now.

They all pile up in the car, and it’s a tight fit but they make it work. Steve gets another row of protests - mostly from Dustin, this time - when he lets them know he won’t be staying with them, but after a short argument, they _finally_ get out. He leaves them in front of the arcade with a warning to watch themselves and call if they need him, though he really hopes they won’t.

He drives maybe a little too fast coming back, but he still gets there after Billy, who he finds in his driveway, leaning against his car, pulling on an almost finished cigarette.

Steve doesn’t sigh in relief when he sees him, but it’s a close thing. He’s only now realizing that he didn’t actually expect him to show up. He should have trusted El’s judgement.

Billy barely looks at him as he parks next to him, eyes set on the line of trees next to the house, face blank. He’s not holding his stomach anymore, but Steve suspects he might be putting on a tough guy act.

He slides out of his car, dusts off his pants nervously. He didn’t know what he was doing when he told him to come, and he still doesn’t know what he’s doing now.

“Sorry,” he says to break the silence, and his voice breaks a little. He clears his throat. “Didn’t think it’d take so long to get rid of them.”

Billy shrugs, and immediately winces when the movement jolts an invisible injury.

“Was starting to think you’d pulled some kind of sick prank on me,” he says.

Steve makes a face. They might not have the best track record, but he would never do something like that. Maybe _King Steve_ would have, but he doesn’t like thinking too much about him.

“Come on,” he says, in lieu of an answer.

He leads Billy upstairs, to the bathroom, expecting him to change his mind and leave at any second. But Billy follows, and does as he’s told when Steve gestures at him to sit on the edge of the tub. He doesn’t say anything, just looks up at him through his lashes as Steve gets the first aid kit down from the cabinet and opens it.

Billy looks almost relaxed, but his eyes are alert. Like Steve thought, he’s pretending. Obviously, showing weakness is not something he’s comfortable with.

Steve has no idea what he’s doing, but he can’t let him know that, and he figures starting by cleaning up the cut is his best bet. Might help being able to see what he’s working with.

He soaks a towel up with water, raises it up to Billy’s battered face, and very determinedly doesn’t freak out.

Billy’s eyes are locked on him as he works, gaze only faltering when he winces as Steve rubs the cut a little too indelicately. 

The silence makes him jittery. Billy’s supposed to run his mouth, try to push his buttons. Not sit on his bathtub, looking like a pale shadow of himself.

Looking at anything else than the pair of blue irises he can feel piercing holes into him, Steve’s gaze lands on what he can see of Billy’s chest, exposed by his open shirt. He doesn’t even have time to feel embarrassed for ogling him before he notices the dark bruises peeking out on the side of his torso.

“Holy shit,” he breathes out in shock. “ _Billy_ —”

He’s extending his free hand before he even knows what he’s doing, but Billy catches his wrist. Not crushing, but firm enough to surprise him, make him look back up at him.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Harrington. I don’t put out on the first date,” he says. It’s a warning, but there’s a spark in his eyes, something that Steve hasn’t seen there all day and was starting to miss.

Even though the words make his cheeks burn, it’s nice to see Billy act more like himself. Having him so passive was really starting to freak him out.

Billy’s tone is final, but Steve tries nonetheless. “Billy, your ribs—”

“Are _fine_ ,” Billy cuts him off, gives him a look. “The shirt stays on, pretty boy.”

Steve frowns, but lets it go. This is clearly dangerous territory, and he doesn’t want to end up with a matching black-eye.

He drops the towel in the sink and pours too much alcohol on a cotton ball, pretending like he meant to do that as he goes to dab it on the cut.

There’s the hint of a smile at the corner of Billy’s mouth, like he knows, and Steve narrows his eyes at him, daring him to say something. The smirk spreads to his eyes, but surprisingly, he stays quiet.

He flinches away at the sting of the alcohol, bares his teeth, but Steve grabs his chin and keeps him from moving around too much. He doesn’t fuss about too much after that, even lets him tilt his face so he can work better.

In Steve’s - very unprofessional and possibly wrong - opinion, the cut isn’t bad enough to warrant stitches. He can’t help but drop his shoulders in relief. He doesn’t think he would have been able to do anything about it, if it had.

Now that he can see it clearly, though, he recognizes the shape of a ring, following the curve of his cheekbone. He knows because he had a wound just like that after Billy kicked his ass.

The mystery is killing him, but he promised he wouldn’t ask, and he’s made it this far without antagonizing Billy too much, so he swallows back his questions.

Billy keeps staring at him, gaze intense, like he’s trying to figure something out. It makes something in his stomach twist, makes his cheeks hot. He ignores him as best as he can.

“There,” he says, finally, as he presses a band-aid over the cut.

He feel the tug of a proud smirk on his lips and feels a little silly. It isn’t even that bad, is the thing. It’s just that Billy looked so hurt, and... And he feels a little stupid for making a big deal out of such a small wound.

But then Billy says,

“It was my dad.”

and it’s like a bucket of ice dumped over his head.

His eyes snap back to Billy, find him looking down at his hands, fiddling with the jewelry there. Before Steve’s brain can think of anything to say, he continues.

“He didn’t like that I let someone else take care of Max. You know, pick her up from school, drop her off. Said he’d asked me, specifically. He’s all about _responsibility_.”

He says the word like it’s personally offended him. With what he’s just told him, Steve’s ready to believe it has.

Billy looks up at him, a challenge in his eyes. Daring him to speak, to fuck this up.

Steve opens his mouth, remembers his conversation with Hopper, thinks _Oh my God._

Says, “Billy, I’m—

“If you say you’re sorry, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Steve huffs out a dry laugh. “Would love to see you try. Even _I_ could kick your ass right now.”

And Billy laughs, and it sounds real for the two seconds it takes before he’s cutting himself off with a pained groan, cradling his ribs.

“Ow, fuck,” he says, but he’s still smiling.

How can he be smiling after telling him something like that? When Steve is still processing the horror of it?

“Does… Does Max know?” Steve asks, because its the first question that comes to mind.

Billy’s smile turns sour. He nods.

“Yeah, she found out.” Before Steve can ask, he adds, “He would never touch a hair on her head. Don’t worry.”

Steve doesn’t say that he can’t do anything but worry, right now, just gapes at Billy until he remembers to close his mouth.

His own relationship with his parents isn’t ideal, but this is— He can’t think of words to describe the disgust he’s feeling.

He sees the cold eyes of the man on the porch of Billy and Max’s house and burns with sudden hatred.

“How— Why don’t—” He snaps his mouth shut in frustration, unable to voice the thoughts spiraling in his head. How can nobody know? How can Hopper not _do_ anything if _he knows?_

“If you tell anyone about this you’re dead,” Billy says, all traces of humor gone from his voice.

Steve looks back at him, confusion and anger battling for dominance on his face.

“ _What?_ Billy, I—”

“I’m serious,” he says. His eyes are hard. “This is none of your business, alright?”

Steve wants to tear out his hair. _He_ told him! Billy was the one who told him this, and now he wants him to keep it quiet? How is he even supposed to— He _can’t_ —

  
_Just promise me that if it gets too bad, you’ll reach out._

  
_I made him promise me the same thing as you._

  
And _fuck_. This is Billy trusting Steve with this, uh?

He’s reaching out.

Steve can’t throw that away.

He swallows back the anger, the frustration. Forces himself to nod, once, as he holds Billy’s gaze.

“Alright. I promise.”

Billy’s throat works, something fragile passing on his face and gone in the same breath.

“Good.”

This feels like it should be the end of it, like Billy should be getting up, making an offensive joke and leaving without even thanking him. But he doesn’t move.

Maybe he’s still too sore and needs to take a breather, or maybe he doesn’t _want_ to go, but it doesn’t matter, because Steve isn’t ready to see him go back to his house anyway, not while knowing what’s waiting for him there.

“Do you… Have to go home?” he asks. _Subtle._

Billy huffs a joyless laugh, still managing to fail at hearing the suggestion. “Nah, I better not show my face there today.”

Steve nods. “Then you’re staying here,” he says with more certainty than he feels.

Billy raises an eyebrow at him, amusement pulling at his mouth. “Don’t you think I have better things to do on a Saturday than hang out with you?”

He’s being a dick, but he’s not outright denying the offer. Steve thinks he’s just playing hard to get.

“In this state?” he says flatly, gesturing at him and raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “No, I don’t think you do.”

He was half-scared of the reaction this would get him, but Billy just grins.

“What are your plans?” he asks, like he’s entertaining the idea. What an ass.

Steve can’t help but smile too, though.

“Well, you can help me clean up the living room, for starters.” he says, shrugging. “It’s impressive the mess these little shits can make in only one evening, really.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but the smile is still there. “You’re supposed to convince me to _stay_ , Harrington.”

Steve laughs. “What, you mean to tell me this _doesn’t_ sound like the most fun you could ever have?”

Billy just gives him a flat look - that’s counterbalanced by the amused spark in his eyes. Steve lets out a dramatic sigh, throws his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, _fine_. If you help, we’ll go get some food.”

Billy’s back straightens at that, interest piqued. “You buying?”

Steve nods, and Billy considers him for another beat before suddenly getting up, startling him with his newfound energy.

“Alright, you got me. Let’s do this.”

He throws him one last grin, pleased and dangerous, and then he’s out of the bathroom without another word, leaving him alone with an open first aid kit and a spinning head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of what was essentially a very drawn out dialogue - sorry about that, but we should be getting more fun stuff next (note i said 'should', because i have no idea what i'm doing half of the time (in case you couldn't tell by the constantly changing chapter count) )


	8. VII 1/2

Even with the two of them, it takes them almost an hour to clean up the house. As Steve said, the kids managed to get their mess pretty much everywhere. He even finds candy wrappers in the sink of the downstairs bathroom.

Billy’s still hurt, obviously, but at least he’s behaving like himself again - and Steve never thought he would be thinking that about him ever.

The sad part is that he seems used to it. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t try and use his injuries to escape the work. Sure, he winces a couple times, inhales sharply when he bends down to pick something up and it hurts his ribs, but if Steve hadn’t been paying close attention, he probably wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was wrong.

If Steve hurries to do all the picking up himself after that, no one has to know.

“What. Is. _That_ ,” Billy says suddenly after a long stretch of comfortable silence, making Steve look up from where he’s folding the blankets up.

He freezes when he sees what he’s looking at.

“It’s, uh… My mom bought it. In France, or something,” he says awkwardly.

Billy tears his eyes off the painting to look at him, and Steve has never seen him look so incredulous.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” he says very seriously.

Steve tries to sound offended. “It’s not that bad.”

“ _Harrington_ ,” Billy says.

Steve looks for something to say, tries to come up with a defense for the painting, for his mom’s taste, but his brain is running dry. Eventually, he can’t do nothing but drop the act.

“Yeah, okay, it’s hideous.”

Billy finally breaks into laughter, real and delighted. Steve really has no choice but to join in.

“Hideous doesn’t even _begin_ to cover it. Oh my _God_ ,” Billy wheezes.

It really is the worst thing ever. Every time the kids come over he hopes someone is going to throw something at it and ruin it, give him an excuse to throw it away, but it’s like the thing is cursed and can’t be destroyed. It even survived the Great Orange Juice Debacle of two weeks ago.

He tells Billy as much, which sends him into an uncontrollable fit of laughter that has him doubled over and holding his stomach - this time for a nice reason.

Steve feels something warm bloom in his chest as he watches him wipe tears out of his eyes. He tells himself it’s the satisfaction of having done something good.

  
———

  
Steve keeps his promise, drives Billy to get food. The diner is right next to the arcade, and the kids are already waiting in front of it when they get there.

Billy’s eyes widen comically at the sight of them. Steve has to fight hard to keep from smiling.

“ _What_ — Harrington, what are they doing here?” Billy asks, snapping out of his surprise and narrowing his eyes at him as he parks the car.

Steve smacks his own forehead dramatically. “Oh, right! I _completely_ forgot to tell you, the kids are eating with us.”

He gives him an apologetic look, but he can’t help the shit eating grin he has on.

He slips out of the car, fights back his laughter as Billy says, “Hey, this wasn’t part of the deal! _Harrington!”_

He joins the kids on the sidewalk. They’ve noticed Billy, still sitting in the car and glaring at Steve through the windshield, and are all eyeing him with varying degrees of wariness.

“What is _he_ doing here?” Dustin asks, understandably defensive.

Steve says, “Look, don’t get mad, alright? I invited him.”

“That’s even worse than him inviting himself, Steve!”

Steve expected resistance, of course, but he still cringes at the outright hostility. He gives El a pleading look.

“I like him,” she says, and all the kids turn to gape at her.

“Well, you wouldn’t say that if you had been there when he attacked Lucas,” Dustin retorts.

Steve decides it’s his time to intervene, raises his hands in a calming gesture. “Guys, listen. I know he might not have made the best first impression, but I promise you he’ll behave, this time. I wouldn’t have invited him if I thought he wasn’t going to.”

“You sure you can keep that promise?” Billy says from behind him, having apparently decided to stop sulking and join them.

All eyes turn to him, a lot of them angry and distrustful, but he doesn’t look like he cares, just raises an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve gives him a look.

“ _Yes,_ ” he says pointedly. “Because _I’m_ the one paying for everyone’s food, so everyone is going to listen to me and stop complaining, and we're going to have a nice, fight-less lunch, alright?”

He turns to the kids as he talks, making sure they understand he means that for them too.

That earns him a lot of pouts - hilariously, even from Billy -, but he must have sounded commanding enough because none of them say anything else. That would be a first.

“Cool, then go pick a table,” he says, shooing them inside.

The kids go, Billy follows after a beat.

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he grumbles as he passes by him. It lacks the heat, so Steve figures he’s not really that mad.

Steve rolls his eyes, keeping his smile to himself.

“I’m terrified.”

  
———

The first ten minutes of sitting all together at the crowded table are tense, Steve has to kick a few shins, but once their food gets there, everyone gets distracted enough to stop glaring at each other, and he can catch a break.

Even with Billy momentarily dampening their good moods, the kids are still on cloud nine from their time at the arcade, bouncing in their seats and getting their fries everywhere. No one in the diner would be able to ignore them even if they wanted, but Steve’s stopped caring about getting disapproving looks long ago. Billy mostly just sits there, looking disinterested as he eats and listens absently to the conversation going on around him. He must still be tired, or else Steve has a feeling he would be way more of a pain in the ass.

“And El tried everything,” Will says enthusiastically, mouth full of burger.

“She’s pretty good too!” Mike adds.

Dustin snorts. “ _Right_. You’re just saying that because she’s your _girlfriend_ ,” he sing-songs mockingly.

“I liked Galaga,” El says around her fries, smiling happily, completely ignoring Mike flushing deep red and shoving at Dustin next to her.

“And she did _not_ like Dragon’s Lair,” Lucas says with an amused look, like there’s a joke in there. Steve doesn’t like it one bit. He knows that face.

“What does that mean?” he asks suspiciously, freaking out a little when they all share a complicit smile. “ _Guys_ , you better not—”

“Relax, it was just one tiny fire,” Mike says, rolling his eyes.

Steve snorts soda out of his nose. “ _What?!”_

Billy chokes a little next to him, but Steve can’t tell if it’s because he’s also shocked or because he’s laughing at him.

“That nobody can trace back to us,” Lucas adds, like it makes it any better.

It does, but only a little bit. Hopper will have Steve’s head if El brings any sort of attention to herself.

Billy makes a humming sound as he sips his Coke. “Max set our old Atari on fire too,” he says. There’s a hint of something like pride in his voice and Steve gives him a judgmental look.

“Oh, so I really am the only responsible one here, uh?”

Billy shrugs. “You’re also the lamest, if that makes you feel any better.”

Steve almost, _almost_ sticks his tongue out at him. The only reason he doesn’t is because it would immediately negate what he just said a second ago.

Dustin butts in, drawing his attention back to him. “Anyway, it was awesome. You should totally stay with us, next time,” he says, nudging Steve with his elbow. There’s thinly-veiled reproach in his voice.

“So you can use me as your personal bank? Yeah, no thanks,” Steve huffs, not taking the bait. “I already spend way too much money on you guys.”

“I dunno, I think you could afford to take them out more often,” Billy says playfully, stealing some fries out of Steve’s basket now that he’s finished his own. “I mean, I’ve seen your house.”

At the sight of his smirk, Steve knows he’s only siding with the kids to mess with him.

“I’m trying not to spoil them too much,” he retorts.

“How is it any of your business anyway, uh?” Dustin grumbles, surprising Steve with the bite.

Billy raises an eyebrow at him. “ _Someone’s_ cranky. Did you fail at beating Max’s high score again today?”

Steve is surprised he even knows about their little rivalry. He didn’t think he and Max talked, least of all of mundane things like that.

Dustin sputters. “I— I’m working on it!”

Steve sees the others roll their eyes. Clearly he’s not making much progress.

Billy snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

Before Dustin can get any more offended, Steve butts in with a “So, who wants desert?” and that instantly derails the conversation.

The table is covered in different-colored milkshakes and two coffees when Will politely asks,

“Hey, Steve, uh… Can we go back to the arcade, after this?”

And Steve knows, from the second the words have left his mouth, that they’ve planned this beforehand. It’s not a coincidence that it’s Will asking; they know he’s the one Steve has the more trouble saying no to, because he’s the nicest and has the best puppy eyes.

Steve gives them a flat look, and they have the decency to look a little sheepish at their blatant attempt at manipulating him.

“You already spent two _hours_ there today,” he says, tearing open his two sugar packets and dumping them in his coffee. He has a feeling he’ll be needing the boost.

They all manage to shrug at the same time. It’s a little impressive. “So?”

“ _So,_ I don’t think your parents would like it,” he says matter-of-factly. “Besides, I’m supposed to bring you home at two.”

“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?” Dustin asks sarcastically. “Is one of us supposed to go in the trunk?”

... Right. Steve didn’t really think of that when he drove here with Billy. He feels a little stupid for it not even occurring to him that they might need the two cars. But more importantly he’s vexed by Dustin’s tone, so instead of an answer, he just grumbles, “Don’t tempt me.”

He snatches Billy’s own sugar packets and opens them to busy his hands as he tries to come up with a solution, knowing Billy won’t mind. Maybe he could do two trips, first with Mike and Lucas, then come back for the other three, and—

“Come on, I’m sure our parents won’t mind,” Lucas says, interrupting his thoughts.

“My mom can even come pick us up later, if you really have something better to do than wait for us,” Dustin says condescendingly.

Steve makes an offended noise. “ _I do!_ Despite what you guys think, my life doesn’t revolve around you.”

Billy snorts. Steve glares at him.

Then the kids all start talking at the same time, a whiny chorus that Steve is - sadly - familiar with. In the mix, he picks up the usual,

“Please, Steve!”

and,

“Come on!”

And of course, the classic, “We’ll never ask for anything else ever again!”

Billy is watching the whole thing act out like it’s the best show he’s ever watched, grin wide and eyes sparkling with glee. Steve should have invited Nancy, she would have been on his side.

He rolls his eyes.

“Alright, fine!” he says, silencing everyone. He raises an authoritative finger in front of him. “On one condition.”

“Anything!” they immediately say, victorious smiles already spreading on their faces.

“Jane can’t come,” he says firmly. Of course, it earns him incredulous protests, followed by booing sounds he ignores determinedly. “I received very clear instructions about her. It’s non-negotiable.”

He waits until they shut up again, resorting to pout instead, to continue,

“And also—”

“That’s two conditions!”

“ _And also_ , you all call your parents to ask for permission first. I don’t want to be the one they blame for this,” he says. “Dustin, you also ask your mom if she’s really okay with picking you up.”

The commotion dies down after a while, and the kids have apparently accepted the bargain because they get up and Dustin extends an expectant hand in front of him.

“You got change for the phone?”

Steve is out of eye-rolls for the day, he just drops the money in his palm and watches them run away giggling with each other.

“Man, these kids really got you wrapped around their little finger, uh?” Billy says, his mocking smirk hidden in his cup of coffee.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? You wanna tell me about that time Max almost nailed your balls to the floor?”

Billy looks startled for a second, then he bursts out laughing, the sound prompting a smile to bloom on Steve’s face.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair,” he says, shrugging in surrender.

  
———

  
The kids come back ten minutes later, all of them with permission to stay another hour at the arcade. It’s a little comforting that Steve’s not the only one who has trouble saying no to them.

El says her goodbyes and promises to come with them again next time. Steve doesn’t say it really depends on whether or not Hopper learns about the ‘tiny fire’.

Steve is happy that they got through the whole thing without any shouting match. As he told them, he wouldn’t have brought Billy if he thought he was any kind of threat to the kids, but the tension was still there for a good part of it.

When it’s time to go and they’re about to head to the car, Billy even says goodbye, surprising everyone by how _not-mean_ it is.

Well, what he says is actually, “See you weirdos around,” but it’s as close to polite as he ever gets, so Steve considers it a win.

With one final wave, they climb inside the Beemer and head for Hopper’s.

“Christ, I don’t know how you do this every fucking day,” Billy sighs once the calm settles around them.

“You get used to it,” Steve says, smiling. He looks over at Billy and sees him tapping a cigarette out of his pack, frowns disapprovingly. “Don’t smoke in the car. Or in front of a _child_ , Jesus.”

Billy lets out a huff, but complies nonetheless. Steve suspects he has a soft spot for El too.

Speaking of her, Steve steals a glance in the rearview mirror and sees her looking outside the window, pleased little smile playing on her lips.

It’s nice that she gets this. Gets to be normal. Steve only knows half of the shit she went through, and even that is enough to make him want to strangle someone.

The thought is not unlike the ones he had this morning - still has now, if he’s being honest, as he remembers Billy looking defeated and small in his bathroom.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel and he forces his mind away from that particular can of worms. He had a good - if noisy - time at the diner, and if he can keep his good mood for at least another hour he’d be glad.

The rest of the ride is silent until they arrive at the cabin. Hopper must have heard them, because he’s already waiting on the porch when Steve stops the car.

“Wait— This is the _Chief’s_ kid?” Billy hisses, shrinking into his seat when he recognizes him. Behind them, El is already getting out.

Steve just laughs at his weak attempt at escaping Hopper’s notice. “Relax, he’s cool.”

He follows El outside, Hopper coming to meet them halfway.

“Hey,” Hopper says, a small, affectionate smile on his lips as El hugs his waist in greeting. “You had a good time?”

She nods. “I played Galaga.”

“That sounds fun,” Hopper says, nodding as if he has any idea what that means, then looks back at Steve. “Thank you. They give you any trouble?”

Steve knows what he’s really asking, and shakes his head determinedly. No need to mention the _Dragon’s Lair_ incident if it’s as impossible to link back to them as the kids say.

“I wasn’t with them at the arcade, but they gave me a rundown, and as far as I know, they were perfectly well-behaved,” he says, then shrugs. “Which probably means they were only mildly inconveniencing every other person there.”

Hopper grunts understandingly. His eyes land somewhere over Steve’s shoulder and he nods in salutation. “Hey, kid,” he says.

Steve looks behind him, sees Billy has decided to come out of the car too. He gives a polite, “Sir,” in greeting, shuffling his feet and looking very awkward.

“Didn’t know you two hung out,” Hopper says, glancing at Steve curiously. He doesn’t wait for an answer before he looks back at Billy. “Haven’t seen you in a while. You good?”

They all know what he means. The fresh cut on Billy’s cheek would alarm anyone who knows about his dad.

Billy’s lips thin briefly, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying when he answers, “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.”

Hopper nods, satisfied. He turns back to Steve.

“Well, thanks again, Steve. We appreciate it,” he says sincerely, and next to him El offers a smile.

“No problem,” Steve says.

“You boys behave,” Hopper says as he turns back to head inside the cabin.

Steve goes back to the car, sees Billy relax once Hopper is out of sight.

“Seriously, Billy, if he was going to arrest you, don’t you think he would have already done it a while ago?” he says, rolling his eyes with an amused smile as he slides behind the wheel.

Billy follows, huffing irritatedly. “Easy for you to say, you’re his babysitter. He likes you.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t get the disapproving looks from time to time,” Steve chuckles. 

Billy rolls down his window as they leave the driveway, and Steve lets him. He figures he’s earned the smoke after the previous hours. Steve loves the kids, but even he is grateful for the calm.

“Shit, you could have warned me we had the fucking _Police Chief’s_ kid in the car all along,” Billy grumbles after the first pull of his cigarette.

“I didn’t think it would be a problem. It’s still just a kid,” Steve chuckles, and something occurs to him. “Actually, she’s… Hopper’s still finishing up the paperwork to adopt her, right now. So if you could... You know, _not talk_ about it yet? Like, in the _‘you didn’t see her’_ kinda way. That would be nice.”

He really hopes it doesn’t sound too suspicious. Hopper didn’t seem to mind Billy being here, but he figures he can’t be too careful.

“That’s not shady at all,” Billy hums, but he doesn’t sound like he cares. “Is this why the kids call her El and you call her Jane?”

Steve freezes, and Billy gives him an unimpressed look. “Yeah, I heard. Maybe tell the kids to watch their mouth, if it’s so much of a secret.”

Steve would be hitting his head against the wheel if he wasn’t driving. What’s the use of him being extra careful if they just go around calling her that anyway?

“Relax, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Billy says next to him, flicking his cigarette outside. “I’d rather get intimate with that baseball bat of yours than piss off the Chief.”

Steve exhales, chuckles a little. “I’d say you’re in the clear, El likes you. I’m sure she won’t even tell him about how much you swear around her.”

Billy makes a face, and Steve laughs harder. Comfortable silence settles around them, fresh air filling the car from where Billy’s still got his window open even though he hasn’t lit up another cigarette. 

They get to his house, huge and empty, and Steve stops the car. He drums his fingers nervously, risks a glance at Billy.

“So, uh… You going home?” he asks awkwardly.

Billy looks back at him. “You got another idea?”

Steve can’t be imagining the hint of hope in his voice. It helps him make up his mind and say, 

“You could stay, hang out for a bit.”

Billy’s smile is wry, a little sour. “I’m not a charity case, Harrington. You don’t have to watch me.”

“I want you to,” Steve says quickly, before Billy can put words in his mouth. “Stay, I mean.”

Billy seems surprised at the honesty. To be fair, Steve himself wasn’t sure of how much he meant it before he heard himself say it. Billy’s a dick, but he’s manageable, and Steve is starting to not-mind the company. And the idea of going back inside the house now that it’s deserted again makes him more depressed than he’d like to admit.

“You got booze?” Billy asks, and he’s back to his familiar, devilish grin. It’s comforting, in a weird way.

Steve barks out a laugh. 

“It’s two in the afternoon,” he says.

“So? Live a little, Harrington,” Billy says, getting out of the car.

He’s already making his way towards the house, and Steve just shakes his head in bewilderment. He has trouble being mad about it, though, even when Billy rolls his eyes at him and says, “You coming? or do I need to break in?”

Well, he brought this on himself, he thinks, and goes to join him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is day 17’638 since we’ve had a dream sequence in this dreamsharing fic, i don’t have any food left, i can feel myself slip away, i don’t know how long i’ll ma


	9. VII 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on the last part of this extremely long day, Steve has *thoughts*

“Pop Tarts and Eggos? Seriously?” Billy says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him from where he’s digging into his kitchen cabinet for snacks. “Someone here only hangs out with kids and it _shows_.”

“Just pick something already?” Steve groans, readjusting his grip on their beer pack.

Billy manages to find a bag of potato chips Steve didn’t even know he had, and they go sit next to the pool. It’s way too chilly to be outside, in Steve’s opinion, but Billy wants a cigarette and Steve can’t have his living room smelling of smoke when his parents come back.

He’s glad the sun is up, doesn’t think he would be alright with it being dark around them, with only the eerie light of the pool between them and the forest. It would probably be too reminiscent of stuff he’d rather not think about, right now.

“Gimme one of those, pretty boy,” Billy says from where he’s practically thrown himself on one of the sunbeds, making grabbing motions at the beers in Steve’s hands.

Steve pointedly ignores the nickname and complies, but still makes a face as Billy cracks his can open. “Isn’t it a little sad? Getting drunk in the middle of the day?”

Billy downs half his beer before leveling him with a look. “What’s sad is doing it alone, Harrington. Drink up.”

And he does, drinking too much in one go, because he had nothing else to to this afternoon anyway, and maybe because he’s hoping the alcohol is going to help him loosen up a little. He can’t help it, the setting just suddenly reminded him a little too much of recent dreams he had, and now he can’t look at Billy without feeling his face heat up.

He’s waiting for Billy to launch into snarky banter, but today must be all about him subverting his expectations because he doesn’t say anything else for a while. They sit in silence, and even with Steve’s original reticence, he has to admit it’s nice, being here and slowly growing tingly and warm from the beer.

“Is it fucking _heated?”_ Billy says suddenly, startling him. He looks over at him, follows his gaze to where it’s fixed on the steam rising from the pool.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he says dumbly. “I was supposed to cover it a couple weeks back, actually, but I forgot.”

Billy’s on his feet before he’s finished his sentence, smiling a little maniacally. “Oh, I am _so_ taking a dive.”

He puts his beer down and starts shrugging out of his coat, and Steve just stares at him dumbfoundedly.

“Billy, it’s like _twenty_ outside, you can’t be serious.” 

“What’s the point of having a heated pool if you can’t use it when it’s cold?” Billy retorts, grin sharp, before he tugs off his shirt.

Steve stops protesting after that, because his brain short-circuits a little.

If anyone asks, he’ll say it was because of the bruises, a mess of varying colors wrapping around Billy’s ribs and abdomen, but even though they _are_ an unpleasant reminder of why Billy’s here in the first place, it’s Billy’s _everything else_ that has Steve gaping stupidly at him, making it pretty easy for him to ignore the injuries.

Steve catches himself before Billy does, thankfully, and hurries to finish his beer to give himself anything else to do. He bites the inside of his cheek hard, scolding himself. He’s seen Billy shirtless a million times at practice, he has no excuse for this.

He’s not freaking out. He is _not_.

Okay, maybe just a little. But this isn’t _completely_ new to him, alright? He’s had... _Thoughts_ , before. But that’s all they were. Thoughts. This, right now, is him blatantly checking out another dude.

Checking out _Billy fucking Hargrove._

Thankfully, Billy jumps in the water as soon as he’s stripped down to his underwear, sparing Steve the trouble of pretending to look at the sky for any longer.

Billy breaks the surface with a gasp, which quickly turns into a pleased groan that does nothing to help Steve get his mind out of the gutter.

“Fuck, how are you not always in here? You’d never see me at school if I had this at home,” Billy says, swimming up to the ledge to look at Steve. He’s got a bright smile on, something so pure and happy that Steve doubts he realizes he’s doing it.

“You get used to it, I guess,” Steve says, fiddling with his empty can.

He used to take swims from time to time, but he doesn’t really like coming here alone anymore. Not since Barb.

If Billy picks up on his change of mood, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead he gestures at his beer that’s still on his sunbed next to Steve.

“Hey, pass me that,” he says, always so polite.

Steve still gets up to bring it to him, also picks up the pack on the way, and only stops when he’s a couple feet away from the edge, narrowing his eyes at Billy suspiciously.

“If you pull me in, I’m drowning you,” he says flatly.

Billy grins, shark-like. “You’re ruining my fun,” he says, then rolls his eyes when Steve doesn’t say anything. “ _Alright,_ I promise.”

Steve puts the can in his outstretched hand and sits next to the edge, placing the pack next to him and taking another beer himself.

Time stretches, and Steve’s eyes fall back on the oppressing line of trees in front of him. He hates how little the forest makes him feel, hates that no matter what he tells himself, he can’t seem to shake the impression that there’s something hidden right there, watching him back.

He takes a long swig of his beer and throws the can away, hoping the numbness of the alcohol will help, but his gaze inevitably falls back on the woods again.

“Fucking relax, alright? Nothing’s gonna pop out of there,” Billy says.

Steve blanches.

“What?” he says, a little breathless, looking down where Billy has his chin perched on the ledge of the pool, cradling his beer in front of him but looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

He can’t— There’s no way he _knows_ , how could he possibly—

“I said _relax_. You know how to relax, right Harrington?” Billy says with exaggerated exasperation. “Or is that stick up your ass preventing you from it?”

He gives Steve a malicious smile, and Steve realizes he freaked out over nothing. His relief is short-lived, though, as it’s immediately followed by indignation over Billy’s comment.

Normally he’d just talk back, but he’s feeling facetious, and the alcohol doesn’t help. So instead, he pointedly puts his beer down and gets up silently. He sees the second Billy starts to think he might have crossed a line and pissed him off, his smile faltering. Good.

Steve lets him thinks he’s going to walk away for another few seconds, figuring he’s earned his right to mess with him a little, then he cannonballs into the water right next to him.

He resurfaces in time to hear Billy let out an ecstatic whooping sound, like he’s having the time of his life.

“That’s what I’m talking about, Harrington!” he laughs, delighted, as Steve pushes hair out of his face and smiles back at him, feeling a little high himself. High enough to not mind the uncomfortable feeling of soaked clothes clinging to him.

Billy’s eyes are alight, sparkling with mirth and something else Steve can’t place. The alcohol has made him numb enough not to think too much about it, though.

“I know you have trouble believing it, but I know how to have fun,” Steve says, swimming up to join him at the edge before picking his beer back up and finishing it.

“I’m starting to see that,” Billy says, almost to himself, eyeing him with a pleased smile.

A gust of wind hits Steve’s face, and he can’t help the shiver coursing through him. He lowers himself back in the water to hide from it. He might be fun, but he can still get pneumonia.

Next to him, Billy turns around to face the forest again, leaning back against the edge with his elbows perched on it. Steve had thought the cold would bother him more, with him having spent so much time in California before now.

“You know, I’m surprised you’re not holding a party every goddamn week with a place like this,” Billy says conversationally. Steve smiles, opens his mouth around a joke, but Billy cuts him off with a judgmental look, “And I don’t mean the kind that involve my sister’s nerd friends and D&D.”

Steve chuckles softly, crossing his arms on the ledge and laying his chin on top of them.

“I used to,” he says softly. “Hold parties, I mean.”

Billy hums, taking a sip of his beer. “King Steve,” he says.

Steve nods. Sighs, “Yeah. _King Steve.”_

“Was he cool?” Billy asks.

It’s not as inquisitive as it once was, doesn’t hold the same fire. When Steve looks at him, he’s smiling lazily. Somewhere between their fight and now, Billy figured it out. That King Steve isn’t coming back. He doesn’t seem to mind, too.

“He was a _dick,_ ” Steve huffs, smiling, and Billy barks out a laugh.

“Well then you two have that in common,” he retorts.

Steve gasps dramatically. “ _Excuse me?_ Have you met _you?”_

“I’m a fucking delight to be around,” Billy says, voice serious but with a playful smile tugging at his lips.

Steve laughs and picks up another beer instead of arguing with him.

  
———

  
They’re on their last beer and finished the chips when Billy finally decides he’s had enough of the pool. Maybe if they still had alcohol within arm’s reach, he would have stayed longer, but Steve is actually glad for the excuse to get out. It’s getting dark out, unpleasantly so, and he’s taken off his shirt, but his pants were a lost cause, and one can only tolerate the feeling of wet jeans on their skin for so long - though he won’t admit he’s regretting the consequences of his little stunt in front of Billy.

Billy gets out first, hoists himself up on the edge effortlessly, and Steve’s eyes catch on the muscles of his back as he does, throat suddenly very tight.

“ _Jesus Christ,_ I’m freezing my balls off,” Billy hisses, efficiently breaking the spell.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh no, if _only_ someone had warned you.”

Billy flips him off, and even though he’s already starting to shiver, he still takes the time to bend down to steal the last of Steve’s beer.

And Steve would get mad, except Billy’s right _there_ , soaking wet, wearing only a pair of boxers, and his brain has stopped working.

This is _not at all_ like practice. Steve has never wanted to reach out and touch when they’re at practice

This feels weirdly intimate, with the two of them being the only ones here, like Steve shouldn’t be looking. And he _really_ shouldn’t be, because this is _Billy, Christ, get yourself together Harrington._

He tears his eyes away, hoping his blush can be attributed to the chill, and climbs out of the pool.

The cold air feels about a million degrees lower than it really is when it hits him, and he hurries up to pick up his clothes and run inside. He hears Billy laugh as he follows.

“Are you sure you’re from Indiana?” he asks mockingly, sliding the glass door closed behind him.

Steve glares at him from where he’s trying to get out of his jeans. “Are you sure you’re from California?”

Billy ignores him and throws his clothes on the couch, stumbles a little from the beer when he slips out of his wet underwear.

Steve’s feet catch in his pants and he crashes to the ground with an embarrassing yelp. He’s thankful for the alcohol dulling the pain of the fall _and_ the sting of humiliation.

The good thing about it is it gives him a distraction to keep from looking over at Billy, who’s naked in the middle of his living room and laughing his head off.

God, he can’t let this become a _Thing_. How is he supposed to go back to practice if he keeps freaking out every time Billy shows a little bit of skin?

“Did you die on me, Harrington?” Billy asks when Steve doesn’t move to get up, still a little breathless from laughing so much.

“M’fine,” he grumbles, face smushed against the carpet.

He picks himself up, literally and figuratively, and finally manages to kick off his jeans, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of wet fabric peeling off his thighs.

He looks at Billy again, doesn’t mean to, but his brain is fuzzy and he’s having trouble focusing on actively _not_ looking at him.

Thankfully, Billy’s wearing pants again, and Steve determinedly ignores the knowledge that he’s not wearing anything underneath them. His gaze lands on the mess of bruises on his ribs as Billy drunkenly struggles to pull the sleeves of his shirt the right way out again.

He didn’t think too much about it earlier, but now he’s been exposed to Billy’s chest long enough to actually look at the angry splotches of yellow and purple, and the less recent, darkening ones mixing with them. 

It looks like it hurts. He _knows_ it hurts, has seen Billy grit his teeth through the pain all morning.

Even in his drunken state - _especially_ in his drunken state - Steve feels anger light up in his chest, burning and mean. He’s angry at Neil, first and foremost - how can anyone do this to their own _son?_ \- but he also finds himself angry at Billy. How can he let this happen? Why doesn’t he fight back? He’s proven he’s more than capable to hold his own in a fight.

But his anger deflates quickly, and he immediately regrets the thought, knows it to be unfair. He can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like having your own dad beating the shit out of you like that.

The thought brings the nightmares from this week back to the surface, Billy in a holding cell and Neil Hargrove shoving Steve against it, crushing his windpipe. Steve frowns thoughtfully. The dreams suddenly feel very on point, considering what he’s discovered today. Did his brain subconsciously figure out something before Billy even told him? Or maybe it’s one of these _déjà-vu_ things?

“Not pretty, uh?” Billy says, and the words snap Steve out of his thoughts.

He tears his eyes off the bruises, finding Billy watching him with a bitter, almost self-deprecating smile - something he probably never would see on his sober self - and realizes he must have attributed Steve’s sour expression to the injuries.

He kind of feels guilty for making him think that, especially since he’s been ogling him for the better part of the day - but of course Billy would catch him the _one_ time it’s not lustfully - but he can’t outright _say_ that. God, he can _never_ say that.

“I mean… It’s pretty bad,” he says instead, shrugging with one shoulder. “The bruises aren’t helping, either.”

Billy barks out a surprised laugh. “Shut up, you asshole,” he says, but it’s the fondest Steve’s ever heard from him. It makes him smile like a damn fool.

Billy shrugs on his shirt, buttoning it higher than he normally would to hide the bruises, then looks at him and Steve realizes he’s still in his soaked up boxers, standing in the middle of his living room like and idiot.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll get changed,” he says quickly, before Billy has a chance to make a lewd joke and embarrass him even more. He turns on his heels and heads for the stairs, but Billy says,

“It’s fine. I should head home anyway.”

Steve stops in his tracks, looks back at him incredulously.

“You’re drunk,” he says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t say _And it’s not even seven yet,_ because it sounds sad and also because he’s not exactly sure of what time it is. They spent _forever_ in that pool.

“Yeah, well,” Billy shrugs, something dark passing over his face, but for once it’s not directed at Steve, “wouldn’t want to miss Sunday brunch with my happy little family tomorrow morning. Neil won’t like that.”

Steve winces, both at the implication and the easiness with which Billy says it.

The words are out of his mouth before he’s thought about what he’s saying.

“You can crash here. I’ll set an alarm so you can get home early tomorrow, before he wakes up.”

He’s horrified at himself as soon as he’s said it, thinking Billy’s about to laugh in his face, maybe even call him out on checking him out throughout the whole afternoon because Steve’s that paranoid, and maybe Billy noticed, and maybe that was a weird offer to make, it’s not like they’re even _friends_ , maybe it’s suspicious—

But Billy just stares, and maybe it’s the alcohol making him so easy to convince, or maybe this is a milestone in their relationship, because he barely hesitates for a few seconds before he says, voice soft, “Yeah, alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not really happy with how this one turned out, but hey, this is just self-indulging trash, who cares?


	10. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i didn't re-read this one as much as it needed to be, but i wanted to post it before going to bed, so i'll probably come back to it and edit some stuff later on, sorry if there are more typos than usual or weird stuff in general, i'm very tired

  
For once, the darkness surrounding the pool doesn’t bother him. There’s light coming from the house behind, from the stars above. Even though the trees are tall and he can’t know if something is hiding behind them.

_Nothing’s gonna pop out of there._

The words are bouncing around in his head, and for some reason, he believes them.

The kids are inside, he can hear faint laughs and that same upbeat humming again. They’re safe. _He’s_ safe, lounging on a sunbed and feeling warm even though it’s dark outside.

Billy’s mouth slides against his, burning but in the best of ways. Steve’s hands hold his hips where he’s sitting on his lap, straddling him. Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself, but he can’t find it in him to be self-conscious, not when he’s feeling so good. 

Billy breaks the kiss but keeps his hands on his neck, sits back and looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes. So blue, so fucking blue.

“What a nice face,” he says, like he didn’t mean to. Steve is burning up, and Billy just smiles wider, but his eyes are soft. He leans back down, whispers against his lips, “I’m sorry for damaging it.”

He kisses him again, heated, and Steve makes a noise, gladly opens up for him. His hands slide up to Billy’s ribs, free of bruises. Because he can _touch_ , so he does.

  
———

  
That morning, Steve wakes up sweaty for an entirely different reason that the one he’s used to, and as soon as he’s cognizant enough to realize it, he buries his face in his pillow and lets out a long groan

He really can’t be having this crisis right now, okay? Between school and his nightmares, the kids, his parents— he already has enough on his plate, he doesn’t need to have wet dreams about Billy Hargrove.

Of all the guys to have a gay epiphany about, it had to be him. His brain couldn’t pick someone _nice_.

Billy, who broke his nose and fractured his eye socket. Who attacked Lucas and threatened a bunch of kids.

Billy with his blue, blue eyes and perpetual tan. His strong arms and defined stomach.

Steve jumps out of his bed and goes to take a shower before his mind wanders too far.

When he gets out, shivering a little because of how ridiculously cold he set the water, he thinks he’s done an okay job of getting his thoughts in order - as much as he can with his head pounding so much, anyway.

He can live with having a few stray thoughts about Billy’s abs. No one has to know. He won’t have that many occasions to look at a naked Billy anyway. Sure, there’s practice, but he can just ignore him. Maybe if he ignores the whole thing long enough, it’ll even go away. He can do that.

He goes to the guest bedroom where he set Billy up last night and knocks a couple times, ignoring the ball of nerves in his stomach at the idea of facing him after dreaming of him like _that_.

After waiting a few seconds and getting no answer, he calls, “Billy?”

With still no response, he pushes the door open slowly.

The bed is made, with fresh sheets nonetheless, and the idea of Billy changing them is so absurd that Steve thinks for a second that maybe he made up Billy being here in the first place. But no, he definitely was here, because the clothes Steve lended him last night are discarded on the floor in the middle of the room and that’s definitely more like him.

Even though he gets why he wouldn’t want to risk getting home late, Steve can’t help but feel a little disappointed. He’d hoped he would at least get to see Billy with bed-hair, but he left before he woke up.

It also means he’s home alone, and the house feels way too big for him again.

He puts the clothes away, ignoring the heavy silence surrounding him, and goes downstairs to try and eat something. He hadn’t gotten drunk in what feels like months, and had almost managed to forget how miserable he always felt the next day.

It’s hard to ignore, right now. His head is heavy, dull ache against his temples, and his stomach rolls with every bite he takes of his toast. At least it’s Sunday, and he doesn’t have anything to do, no kids to drive around and no school to go to. He’ll probably go straight back to bed after this, sleep though his hangover.

But the universe has other plans, apparently, because his phone starts ringing as he’s putting his plate in the sink to be dealt with later. The sound makes him wince, and he hurries to go pick it up and make it stop.

“Yeah?” he answers gruffly, uncaring of how grumpy he sounds. No one should be allowed to call anyone this early on a Sunday.

“Hey, it’s me,” Nancy says, way too alert for how tired Steve feels. She must have picked up on his bad mood, because she sounds a little apologetic when she adds, “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, it’s okay,” he says, too tired to be really mad at her. “What do you want?”

It sounds a little meaner than he meant it to, but his social skills aren’t at their best, right now. Nancy either lets it slide or doesn’t care, because she just says, “I was wondering if I could come over to study for our Chem test.”

And this brings back memories, but it doesn’t make him feel as melancholic as it maybe should. Maybe the headache is preventing it or maybe he’s really done grieving their relationship for good.

“Like you need to study,” he huffs, rubbing at his eyes to try and ease the throbbing behind them.

“I know _you_ didn’t,” she retorts playfully.

And he knows what she’s doing. Again. Like he can’t be left alone for one fucking day or he’ll collapse. He’s really starting to regret ever telling her anything about the nightmares.

“You don’t have to, Nance. I’ll be fine,” he says. They both know he’s not talking about the Chem test.

He voice is softer when she asks, “Yeah?”

It sounds so concerned, he hates it.

He forces back his first instinct to snap back at her. Knows he’s just cranky because he’s hungover. Instead he clears his throat, forces himself to sound almost human when he answers,

“Yeah, I’ve been sleeping better. The kids helped, dragging me around all day and screaming in my ears. I was craving my pillow by the end of it.”

Nancy laughs, clear and happy like he hoped she would. He owes her that, at least.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she says. “But you know, I’d still be happy to come over. I know you haven't studied enough for that test.”

Steve considers his empty kitchen, his giant, silent house. On one hand he can’t deny he’d like the company, but on the other he doesn’t want to feel Nancy’s concern permeate the air around him.

But maybe he can finally convince her to drop it, if she sees he’s doing better? Maybe she’ll believe him if he tells her in person, and they can go back to ignoring their shared trauma like they did before.

And his house is so fucking _silent_ without the kids or Billy talking his ear off.

“Sure,” he says.

———

  
Nancy hasn’t even crossed the threshold when she says, “Steve Harrington, are you _hungover?”_

He winces, takes a step to the side to let her in. “Not so loud, please.”

She gives him a patronizing look as she passes by him to get to the kitchen.

“What did you do to end up like that?” she asks, putting her bag on the kitchen island and sitting on one of the stools surrounding it.

“I had beers with Billy,” he says.

He sits down in front of her and Nancy rolls her eyes at him. “Ha, ha, ha, very funny. Seriously, what happened?”

“No, really. I had beers with Billy.”

She looks very confused, lips parted around a question that doesn’t come. Steve thinks that’s fair, he probably wouldn’t believe him either.

“Does this have anything to do with what you told us?” she finally asks, frown turning a little annoyed. “Because we _told_ you, you don’t owe him sh—”

Steve cuts her off with a huff. “Jesus, Nance, I’m not hanging out with him to— _ease my mind,_ or whatever, alright? That would be fucked up. I just felt like it.”

She gapes at him.

“ _Felt_ like hanging out with _Billy?”_

He rolls his eyes. “Come on, he’s not that bad. He’s even kinda nice once you talk to him.”

Nancy gives him a _look_ and he can’t help but chuckle, tilting his head in acknowledgment. “Okay, not _nice_ , but he’s fun to talk to. I had a good time, really.”

She looks like she’s about to call bullshit for a couple more seconds, then her frown eases a little. She sighs. 

“Alright, well… This is unexpected. But I guess, if _you’re_ okay with it, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be,” she says. It sounds a bit too much like it’s hurting her to say that to be convincing, but Steve will take what he can get. “Just— keep in mind that he broke your nose, mh? Did he ever even apologize for that, by the way?”

Steve is about to say, _Yes, actually,_ but swallows back the words when he remembers what happened right after that and realizes it didn’t _actually_ happen.

Before the silence stretches, he shakes his head mechanically, hoping he’s not flushing too obviously.

Luckily, Nancy’s already rolling her eyes. “ _Right_. Well, he’s still not okay in my book, then.”

“Good thing you’re not the once hanging out with him, then,” Steve retorts, but it’s friendly. Before Nancy can say anything else, he gestures to her bag. “Now, should we get started? I really didn’t study shit for that test.”

Nancy laughs, and Steve thinks that yeah, it was a good idea to let her come here, after all.

“Why am I not surprised?”

  
———

  
“What do you think?”

Steve considers the waves, the infinite blue before him. His feet are buried in the sand, warm and comfortable.

“It’s better than the pool,” he says.

Billy smiles wide, showing teeth. He looks really good here, sitting next to Steve on the beach. Like he belongs.

“Fuck yeah it is.”

Steve reaches out, slides a hand behind Billy’s neck and pulls, doesn’t know where the impulse nor the courage to do so come from. Billy lets himself be drawn to him, kisses back lazily.

Then suddenly his warmth is gone, and Steve opens his eyes to find him looking around them with wide, scared eyes. Steve feels his heart-rate pick up with panic, the change in pressure around him.

“What?” he asks.

Billy gets up hurriedly. “We can’t be here,” he says. “You can’t be here.”

He starts to walk away and Steve follows, struggling to keep up with his pace on the sand. It isn’t as bright around them, suddenly.

“Billy!” he calls. “Wait!”

Billy whips around, eyes hard over the fear, forcing him to a stop. “I’m serious,” he says. He’s still looking around them like something - _someone_ \- is going to come charging at them at any second. “You have to leave.”

They’re alone on the beach, but suddenly Steve feels it. A presence, looming over them, threatening and dangerous. His first instinct is to think of faceless monsters with countless teeth, but this is different.

He’s felt this before, with an arm crushing his throat and a man sneering at him.

So he takes Billy’s hand and runs.

They both slip on the sand, struggle to escape the sensation of someone following them. There’s nothing in front of them but endless beach, stretching forever, and Steve doesn’t know where he’s going, just knows he can’t look back or he’ll get caught.

He thinks he hears someone speak, threaten them, but it’s an echo and he can’t make out the exact words. It makes him run faster.

Suddenly, _finally_ , he sees a pier in front of them. They hide under it, tucked behind the stilts, and hold their breath.

Time stretches, and the feeling of dread doesn’t leave, but it dulls a little after a while. Steve doesn’t let go of Billy’s hand.

  
———

  
At school, Billy actually acknowledges him, and Steve doesn’t know why he thought that maybe he wouldn’t, like he wasn’t cool enough to be seen with, but he’s happily surprised.

He does better than acknowledge him, really: he ditches Tommy in the middle of him saying something, leaves him right there in the hallway and comes to lean on the lockers next to Steve like he always does these days.

“Hey there, pretty boy,” he says, grin sly and dangerous, completely ignoring Tommy gaping at them, looking more offended than Steve’s ever seen him, which is fucking hilarious.

“Miss me?” Steve says, an echo of a conversation that feels like it happened a month ago, wondering where the boldness comes from as the words leave his mouth.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “Anything better than listening to Hagan over there.”

Steve dares a look at Tommy, who’s practically fuming as he turns on his heels and walks away. Steve almost feels a little sympathetic, but figures he’s earned a little humiliation with how much of an ass he’s been.

“I think you broke his heart,” he says with amusement, looking back at Billy.

“It’s what I do,” Billy says, smiling devilishly. Steve turns back to his locker to hide his blush in it. He promised himself this wouldn’t be a problem, for Christ’s sake.

“How’d it go on Sunday?” he asks, because he needs to change the subject, and because he genuinely cares.

He immediately feels the shift in atmosphere and knows it was the wrong thing to say.

Billy’s glaring at him when he looks back at him. “ _Don’t,_ ” he says lowly.

“What?” Steve blurts out, lost.

Billy pushes himself off the lockers and shoves past him, leaves him there not unlike he did with Tommy not two minutes ago.

Steve looks at his retreating back for about two seconds before he snaps out of his surprise and follows impulsively.

“Hey, what the hell?” he asks when he catches up with him.

Billy ignores him, keeping his eyes set in front of him, jaw tight, so Steve steps in front of him and blocks his way, earning himself a very dirty look. Maybe this isn’t the brightest idea he’s had, but he can’t let this go without an explanation, not when he thought things might actually be getting better between them.

“What is your problem?” he hisses, voice low so the people around them won’t hear. There's already a lot of raised eyebrows turning their way.

“We are _not_ talking about this in the middle of a fucking high school hallway,” Billy growls threateningly.

He’s about to push past him again, and Steve does the first thing that comes to mind. He grabs his wrist and pulls him in the bathroom that’s right next to them, closing the door behind them.

Billy’s reaction is immediate. “What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Steve opens his arms, gesturing at the room around them. “We’re not in the middle of the hallway anymore, are we?”

Billy’s eyes are burning, his fists tight at his sides, and maybe Steve should have gone about this more delicately if he had wanted to avoid that, but hell, he’s not Tommy, he doesn’t let Billy walk all over him.

“You don’t get to ask about my fucking life just because you put a band-aid on me, Harrington,” Billy snarls, taking a step towards him, close enough to take a swing if he wants to.

And Steve recognizes the defensiveness, now. Knows what Billy doesn’t want people to know. It dulls the anger in his chest, replaces it with sympathy, even though he knows Billy probably hates it.

“I told you, I won’t tell anyone, okay?” he says, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.

Billy bares his teeth. “You fucking better.”

Steve can’t help the eye-roll. “Stop it with the threats, okay? It doesn’t work on me.”

Billy’s suddenly closer, his nose almost touching his, burning eyes inches from his. There’s a hint of that manic look he had at the Byers in there. “Oh yeah? Maybe you should worry about that lack of survival instinct a little, Harrington,” he says.

The bathroom door bursts open behind Steve and they both jump, heads whipping around to look at whoever interrupted them. It’s Nancy and Jonathan - _of fucking course_ \- and Steve feels his frustration turn back into full-on burning anger immediately.

“You okay Steve?” Nancy asks, eyes going from him to Billy, with concern and suspicion respectively.

Before he has time to tell them to leave, both embarrassed and furious at being “rescued” like a fucking damsel in distress, Billy growls, “We were done anyway,” and shoulders his way past him and the others, disappearing into the hallway.

Steve grinds his teeth around a protest, not wanting to cause more of a scene in front of the whole fucking school.

But then Nancy gives him this patronizing look that clearly means, _I told you so,_ and Steve snaps.

“Can you mind your own business?” he says, sharp and mean. They both recoil, surprised.

“We’re just trying to _help you_ , Steve,” Nancy says, a little offended.

“Well I don’t recall asking you to!” he barks, then shoves between the two of them and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I know i don't answer comments because anxiety, but I read all of them and they make me very happy so thank you very much and I love you


	11. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my guys, this one is a big one, and also maybe my favourite (not writing-wise, just because of the stuff that happens)

When Steve goes to pick up Dustin and Lucas later that day, Billy’s also there waiting for Max.

He sees him, Steve _knows_ he sees him, but he doesn’t acknowledge him in any way, just keeps glaring at the school doors from where he’s leaning on the Camaro. Steve doesn’t _pout_ , because he’s not a child, but he does cross his arms and stare angrily in front of him as he waits for the kids.

He kinda wants to get out of his car and confront him, but he doesn’t want to be the one to apologize first. Because really, he’s done nothing wrong and Billy’s just being a dick. So he just stays inside, and they both ignore each other.

Dustin and Lucas climb in the back a minute later, chatting energetically about scientific nonsense Steve doesn’t get. He’s actually glad they don’t try to include him in the conversation.

It doesn’t last, unfortunately, as Dustin soon picks up on the tension emanating from him and gestures at him to Lucas. They fall silent, and Steve’s hands tighten around the wheel as he braces himself for the inevitable comment.

“ _Someone’s_ grumpy,” Dustin says.

“I am _not_ —” he starts, but sees the look they give him in the rearview mirror and snaps his mouth shut. He focuses back on the road, grinding his teeth.

They don’t say anything else for the rest of the trip, but Steve can tell they’re having a whole silent conversation on the backseat.

  
———

  
It’s around eight and he’s contemplating the idea of going to bed right now, just to stop his thoughts from straying back to this morning and getting him angry all over again, when the doorbell rings and startles him.

He lets out a long groan, because this is probably Nancy’s doing all over again. He was pretty sure he’d made it clear that he didn’t want her fussing over him, but apparently she’s more stubborn than he thought.

He swings the door open, already rolling his eyes in irritation. “Dustin, I _appreciate_ the sentiment, but—”

He stops in his tracks when he sees Billy, looking at him like he didn’t expect him to actually be there.

They stare at each other for a beat, then Steve - more surprised than angry for now - says, “Come to kick my ass?”

Billy narrows his eyes at him, annoyed but not dangerous.

“I’ve been told I should…” His jaw tightens. “ _Apologize_ ,” he grinds out.

Steve can’t help the incredulous snort he lets out. “And you _listened?”_

Billy looks like he’d rather be doing anything else than having this conversation. “Max can be very persuasive.”

At that, Steve lets out a long-suffering sigh. _Of course_ the kids talked. Seems like everybody’s incapable of minding their own business, today.

“You got a lot of people looking out for you, Harrington,” Billy says, matter-of-factly, but also like he’s puzzled by the idea. Some of the tension’s seeped out of him.

Steve huffs a joyless laugh, gets a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, I’d appreciate a little _less_ attention, to be honest.”

Billy tilts his head in agreement, snorts like he’s just remembered something funny. “ _Christ_ , Byers and Wheeler were ready to _throw down,_ bursting into that bathroom like I was murdering you.”

Steve cringes, his shoulders drawing up. “Sorry about that, they’re—”

Billy waves a dismissive hand in front of him. “It’s fine, I get it. I don’t have the best track record.”

It sounds a lot like resignation. He’s right, in all fairness, but still, it’s kind of sad to hear.

It’s not really an apology, but now that he’s here in front of him, Steve doesn’t really care.

He rubs at his neck. “Do you… Want to come in?” He takes a step to the side to clear the way into the house.

Billy looks surprised for half a second, like he expected Steve to shut the door in his face instead, but as usual, he’s pretty fast to recover and gives him a mischievous grin.

“You got booze?”

Steve can’t help but laugh. “Even if I _was_ interested in the idea of getting drunk on a school night - which I’m _not_ \- I’m afraid we finished everything I had stashed Saturday.”

Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “ _Lame_. Come on, Harrington. Let’s go restock.”

Before Steve’s even processed what he just said, Billy’s already spinning on his heels and heading back to his car. Steve dumbly stares at his back until he’s getting behind the wheel and waving at him.

“I said _come on_ ,” he calls impatiently. “Get your pretty ass in here, Harrington, I ain’t got all day.”

And Steve - determinedly ignoring the part about his ass - doesn’t think twice, just picks his coat up, locks the door, and goes.

  
———

  
Unsurprisingly, Billy has a fake ID, and also happens to know which places the cashier won’t look at it too closely.

They end up with a couple of six-packs in the trunk of the Camaro, Billy smoking with his window down and making cold air fill up the car as he drives, and _still_ refusing to tell Steve where they’re headed.

“Is this the part where you murder me?” Steve asks disinterestedly, watching the houses pass by through his own window.

Billy chuckles around his cigarette. “If I was going to murder you, you’d know.”

“Also hope you’d make it quicker. Dragging it out like that is just sadistic.”

“Stop _whining_ ,” Billy says, rolling his eyes. “We’re here.”

He parks the car haphazardly, already getting out as Steve just _now_ registers where they are.

It’s the junkyard.

He doesn’t get a chance to even figure out how he feels about being here before Billy’s pulling the trunk open and calling for him to come help him.

“What are we doing here?” Steve asks when he finds his voice back, picking up a six-pack and blindly following Billy over to an old, broken down Chevy.

“I like it here,” Billy says, like this is the only explanation he needs.

He sets up his beers on the hood and jumps on it, sitting down with his back against the windshield. When Steve just stares blankly at him, he rolls his eyes dramatically and taps the hood beside him.

“Sit down, Harrington. Christ.”

He’s still unsure of what’s going on, but still climbs on and settles next to him, feeling very awkward as he does and Billy’s eyes are on him the whole time.

Once he’s leaning back and taking the first swig of his beer, he kind of gets it, though.

The sun’s long gone, by now, but there are enough stars that Steve doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Even being here, in the junkyard where he had to fight off monsters, isn’t as bad as it could be. Maybe it’s because he’s not alone, maybe it’s because he’s with Billy.

There’s a couple of yellowing lights scattered in the landscape in front of them, farms or isolated houses. People living their life. The faint sound of cars, far away. It’s peaceful, and Steve thinks that maybe this is Billy’s apology.

“How’d you find this place?” Steve asks when he’s halfway through his beer and they still haven’t said anything.

Billy shrugs. “I drive around town when Neil’s in a bad mood.”

Steve feels bad for asking, even though Billy says it like it’s nothing.

“That happen often?” he asks, testing his luck. After all, he wasn’t the one to bring it up, maybe Billy won’t close off like he usually does this time.

“Last couple weeks have been complicated,” Billy admits, shrugging with faked nonchalance.

Steve wants to say _I’m sorry,_ but knows Billy won’t like that. He chugs down the rest of his beer for courage - or to get rid of any lasting sense left in him - and says,

“Next time, just come to my place.”

Billy turns to him, eyebrows raised. Steve suddenly feels exposed, and rambles nervously, “I mean, if you _want_. You can come. I won’t mind, is what I’m saying.”

Billy’s the first to avert his eyes, to Steve’s surprise, and takes a long drink from his beer before he answers, looking at the scenery in front of them,

“I’ll think about it.”

Steve feels a smile tug at his mouth and forces it back, knowing it’s ridiculous to feel so satisfied about it. Besides, Billy’s probably just humoring him.

They drink in comfortable silence, much like they had in Steve’s pool just two days ago, warmth from the alcohol seeping into them slowly. Steve can’t even find it in himself to care that they have school tomorrow morning.

“So, where are your parents?” Billy asks, finally too drunk to hold his tongue or thinking Steve is too drunk to mind the question.

Steve looks at him dumbfoundedly. He didn’t think Billy noticed, least of all that he cared to know.

“Come on, Harrington,” Billy says, rolling his eyes when the silence stretches too long. “I’ve been at your place three days in a row and I havent seen them around. What’s their deal?”

And Steve will blame it on the alcohol tomorrow, but he doesn’t feel like feeding him the usual ‘ _They’re on vacation’_ bullshit he gives everyone else.

“They’re just… not around, much. Or ever, really,” he says, folding his legs and hooking his elbows on his knees.

Billy doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push it, but maybe he knows that he doesn’t need to, because Steve continues anyway. It’s easy to spill it all out, out here with just the two of them. Maybe that’s why Billy took him here, too.

“My dad has these business meetings all over the country, sometimes even overseas. My mom always goes with him.” He shrugs, like maybe it’ll convince Billy that he doesn’t care. “I haven’t seen them in two months, now.”

Billy hums thoughtfully. He finishes his beer - third? Fourth one? Steve’s lost count - and throws the empty bottle a good twenty feet away. The glass shatters, somewhere out of sight.

“That sucks,” he says, and sounds like he means it too.

Steve huffs out a laugh. “I’m sure I sound like a dick to you.”

Billy takes another beer but doesn’t drink right away.

“You don’t,” he says. “Just because my dad’s an asshole doesn’t mean you don’t get to miss yours.”

Steve sighs, fiddling with his bottle. “I don’t really miss them anymore. They’re not here often enough to have something to miss.”

“I’m kind of disappointed,” Billy says, seemingly out of nowhere, and Steve turns to him questioningly. Billy looks at him over his beer as he takes a swig, then says, “You’re not nearly as much of a rich kid cliché as I’d hoped. You have _layers_.”

Steve laughs, for real this time, and Billy smiles likes this is exactly what he was hoping for, which makes something curl pleasantly in Steve’s chest.

“I used to be pretty cliché,” he admits once his laughter calms down. “In the _Do you know who my father is?_ kinda way, you know?” He puffs out his chest and deepens his voice when he says it, sounding ridiculous even to his own ears.

It’s Billy’s turn to laugh now, throwing his head back. Steve’s eyes catch on his exposed throat, on the way his smile reaches his eyes like it rarely does.

Billy raises his beer between them, snapping him out of his reverie.

“To shitty parents, then” he says, tamer but still smiling, still true.

Steve can only smile back as he clicks his bottle against his.

Like they both had the same idea at the same time, they down their drinks, then compete to see who can throw his bottle the furthest. Billy makes a face when his hits a car wreck and shatters before it can go any further, making Steve the winner by default.

Steve can tell they’re pretty far gone. They’re done with one of their packs already, halfway through another, and it feels like they’ve only been here for an hour or so. But maybe Steve’s just losing time? He has trouble caring, either way. It’s nice being here, and he can leave the consequences to be dealt with by his future self.

Billy’s in the middle of taking a swig when he suddenly makes a sound like he just remembered something.

Steve looks at him curiously as he puts his beer down to pat his pockets, first his jacket’s then his jeans’. He pulls out something with a victorious _Ah-ah!_ and it takes some time for Steve’s eyes to focus on what it is.

“Speaking of clichés,” he says flatly when he recognizes a blunt, crooked and a little flattened by being in his pocket for God knows how long.

“Is this where you draw the line, princess?” Billy asks mockingly as he puts it between his lips to fish out his lighter. “I won’t tell the Chief if you won’t.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ve smoked before, Billy. We have weed in Hawkins.”

Billy smiles but doesn’t say anything, too busy pulling on the joint as he lights it. Steve loses his line of thought as he watches him, unable to look away from his mouth, the redness of it, the way the flame lights his face in warm orange.

Billy takes a first pull, eyelids fluttering as he exhales, and Steve’s stomach does a little backflip because _shit_ , he looks good.

Billy silently offers him the joint and Steve shakes his head no, not trusting his voice to speak. Billy shrugs, uncaring, and takes another hit.

He goes back to watching the horizon, but Steve doesn’t look away from him, mesmerized by the smoke curling around his lips and up into the air.

“Here,” Billy says, startling him even though his voice is soft, almost a purr. Steve looks up and realizes Billy’s facing him again, probably caught him staring.

Steve almost panics, but Billy doesn’t look angry. His eyes are half-closed, blue glinting from behind his eyelashes, his pupils wide. He’s moving, but Steve only registers it when he feels a hand on the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair and pulling him closer.

His heart almost stops when Billy leans in, and for an absurd, insane second, Steve thinks he’s going to kiss him. Just like he had in that dream days ago, after saying the exact same thing. But then he feels Billy exhale against his lips, and his brain catches up with what’s happening. It still takes him way to long to remember to inhale the smoke that Billy’s blowing in his mouth.

To his credit, he’s getting distracted by a lot of things. Starting with Billy’s ridiculously long eyelashes only a few inches away from his, so close he could count them. His hand is heavy on his neck, but not unpleasantly so. A warm weight, grounding him. There’s also the faint press of his upper lip against his, only there for half a second before it’s gone, but still managing to knock the air right out of his lungs.

Steve closes his eyes, both because he needs to get rid of at least one sense or he’ll get overwhelmed, and because he wants to relish in the feeling of proximity as much as he can.

Almost as fast as it started, Billy pulls away, leaving him with a spinning head that’s only half due to the smoke.

Steve opens his eyes again, finds Billy looking at him with an amused little smile.

“Jesus, you’re a lightweight,” he says, teasing but not mocking.

Steve snaps his mouth shut, hoping really hard that his blush isn’t visible in the darkness, or that Billy’s too high to notice.

“Shut up, it’s been a while,” he grumbles. When Billy chuckles, he joins in, because he’s already forgotten to feel embarrassed.

  
———

  
Steve’s coming back from the Camaro with their last six-pack when Billy says,

“So, what’s up with Wheeler and Byers?”

He’s lounging on the hood of the Chevy, relaxed, leaning back on one elbow with one leg outstretched and the other bent at the knee like he’s in a goddamn magazine. He laughs when Steve zig-zags a little to get to him, too drunk to walk in a straight line.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, setting the pack next to him and immediately taking another beer.

“What’s their deal?” Billy asks, gesturing vaguely with his bottle. “You fucking them?”

“ _What?!_ No! Ew,” Steve says, making a face.

Billy laughs. “Then explain, pretty boy. Why’d they come running to save you from big bad me?”

Just the reminder is enough to make Steve’s nostrils flare.

“Because they made it their personal mission to babysit me,” he growls, kicking a rock away and starting to pace in the same motion.

“Why’s that?” Billy asks, taking a sip of his beer. It could sound like he’s just humoring him, but his eyes are focused, interested.

Steve throws his hands up in frustration, and it’s like the floodgates open, because he’s pissed off and needs to let it out and drunk enough that he doesn’t care if he does in front of someone. 

“Because I was dumb enough to tell them I wasn’t sleeping well, and they immediately took it upon themselves to make sure I wasn’t— I don’t know, _letting myself die_ , I guess.” He huffs a joyless laugh. “And I just told them because they asked, and I didn’t _want_ help in the first place, and I know that they’re just trying— that they just want to _help_ , but _fucking hell_ , I’m not made out of _sugar.”_

He stops his pacing on the last word, breathing heavily, and turns to Billy for approval, or support, he doesn’t really know.

“Didn’t she cheat on you, also? Seems a bit late to give a shit about you,” Billy says.

Any other time, and Steve might have thought he was trying to start shit, but he knows he’s too drunk for that right now. Steve’s _definitely_ too drunk to take offense.

“That’s not— That’s not really how it went,” he says, cringing.

“Then explain, because I’m not following anymore, Harrington,” Billy says, before chugging the last of his beer.

Steve sighs. It’s doesn’t exactly hurt to talk about it anymore, but it’s embarrassing.

“She dumped me, and… And I tried to fix things, but she’d already gotten with Jonathan by then,” he says, then takes a long drink to dull the sting of it.

“What’s there to misunderstand?” Billy asks, shrugging. “She dumped you and got with that Byers guy immediately after. Seems shady to me.”

Steve rakes a frustrated hand through his hair. “No, it’s not— She’s cool, _they’re_ cool. They love me, I love them, they’re my friends, alright?” he rambles, feeling a little foolish as he says it, but wanting to make it clear.

Billy holds his hands up in mock-surrender. “Listen, man, I’m not saying they’re not. Like, if you want to hang out with your ex and her new, creepy boyfriend, knock yourself out,” he says, shrugging. There’s just enough judgement there for Steve to get a little offended. “I’m just saying you have every right to be pissed about how it all happened.”

Then he takes another drink to punctuate the words, but his eyes stay fixed on Steve.

“I’m not pissed,” Steve says sulkily.

Billy barks out a laugh, does a sarcastic eye-roll. “Yeah, me neither.”

Then he slides off the hood and walks over a pile of junk that’s a little further. Steve watches in incomprehension as he rummages in it, then pulls out a straight piece of metal, about four feet long, probably coming from some car’s frame. He looks way too pleased by his find for it to presage anything good.

He comes back and holds it out for him expectantly.

“Here,” he says.

Steve doesn’t move, just stares at it, unsure of what he’s supposed to be doing. Billy rolls his eyes. “Take it, Harrington.”

Steve does, and Billy smiles deviously. “Good. Now go break something.”

Steve stares at him incredulously. “What?”

Billy pushes him towards an old truck, one hand on the small of his back and the other on his shoulder, both feeling like they’re leaving burning imprints through his clothes.

“Go on. Break something,” he says encouragingly, hot breath ghosting over Steve’s cheek. “Go nuts, get it out of your system. It’s good for you.”

Steve holds his improvised bat close to him, looks at the unfortunate rusting truck in front of him, then back at Billy.

“What should I aim for?” he asks hesitantly.

Billy lets out an infuriated groan. “Oh my god, just fucking hit it already.”

Steve considers the old wreck, figures no one’s going to care if he wrecks it even more. He downs his still-full beer and lets the bottle fall on the grass with a dull thud, then readjusts his grip on the piece of metal, aware of Billy’s eyes on him the whole time.

He swings at the driver’s side window, and the whole thing explodes with a deafening crash, sending glass flying everywhere. Had he not been this drunk, he probably would have worried about the safety hazard, but right now he just gapes at Billy, who stares back at him for a beat before they both break into huge, delighted grins.

He gets to work on the truck, breaking everything that’s sticking out and then some. Billy joins in at some point, having found his own makeshift weapon, and the junkyard fills with sounds of breaking glass, clanking metal, and ecstatic laughter.

When there’s nothing left to break on the truck, Billy tugs him towards another wreck, and they start all over again.

Steve doesn’t know for how long they do that, but by the time they let themselves fall to the ground, breathless from how much they’re laughing, his hands are numb and he doesn’t even remember why they started it in the first place.

Billy’s eyes are wet with happy tears, he’s gripping Steve’s forearms as if to steady himself, and Steve thinks he wants this to last forever, like the big sap he is.

“Told you it was good for you,” Billy wheezes, gaze finding his long enough for Steve to feel his heart skip a few beats.

Steve’s cheeks hurt from how wide his smile is. “We should do this again,” he says, meaning it.

Their foreheads knock when they launch into another fit of uncontrollable laughter, and it’s not even funny, but neither of them care.

Steve notices that it’s suddenly a lot brighter around them, and his first instinct is to think that they’ve spent the whole night here. But then he realizes that the light isn’t coming from above, but from the side.

They both turn and squint at the headlights pointed at them. Nothing moves for a while, everything silent, and then the door on the driver’s side opens and someone steps out.

Hopper stares at them for a long moment, then says, “Do I even wanna know?”

They burst out laughing again, doubled over, stomachs hurting.

Something blocks the light, and Steve squints up at Hopper, who’s now standing next to them, hands on his hips. He smiles goofily at him.

“Hey Hop, what are you doing here?” he asks innocently.

“Mr. Johnson who lives in the house down the hill heard noises coming from here and called the station,” he says, then lets out a very heavy sigh. “But I have to admit that you two are the last thing I expected to find coming here.”

Steve feels like maybe he should apologize, but when Billy starts snickering like a dumbass, he has no choice but to join him.

“You know, this really isn’t what I was hoping for when I told you you had a lot in common,” he hears Hopper sigh, which does nothing to help them calm down.

“Are you arresting us?” Billy asks, teasing in a way that he would never dare to be when sober, not with Hopper.

“Do you know who my father _is?”_ Steve asks, pitching his voice weird, and Billy just about dies from laughter.

Hopper sighs for the fourth time in less than a minute. “ _Don’t tempt me,”_ he grumbles. “I’m taking you home, let’s go.”

Steve suddenly feels himself lift off the ground, and before he realizes it, Hopper has pulled him to his feet, where he sways a little but manages to stay upright.

“My car is here,” Billy says, pouting, when Hopper does the same to him.

“I’ll send someone to get it,” Hopper says. “Come on.”

He starts to walk towards his cruiser, but Billy doesn’t move, so Steve doesn’t either.

“I can’t go home like this,” Billy grumbles, good mood receding.

“You can crash at my place,” Steve says immediately.

Hopper walks back up to them and guides them to the cruiser with a hand on their shoulders. “I think it’s best if we split you two up for tonight,” he says with a little annoyance. “Billy can stay with me.”

“I have to take Max to school tomorrow,” Billy says, something in his voice that Steve would call _pleading_ if he didn’t know better.

Hopper manhandles Steve into the backseat and fastens his seatbelt, then turns to look at Billy. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll get you home early, your father won’t even know you were gone,” he says, because everyone here knows what Billy’s really saying.

Effectively reassured, Billy slides into the cruiser next to Steve and immediately lets his head fall on his shoulder, eyes falling shut as he mumbles something incomprehensible. Steve stops breathing, all of him zeroing in on the places where Billy is touching him. He doesn’t realize Hopper’s started the car until they’re leaving the junkyard.

He spends the whole trip staring determinedly in front of him, even though the only thing he can think about is Billy, snoring softly against him, his hair tickling his jaw with every inhale.

When Hopper parks in Steve’s driveway, Billy blinks awake blearily and straightens up, allowing Steve to breathe normally again. It still takes him a beat to remember to actually _move_.

He stumbles out of the car and Hopper lowers his window. “You going to be alright getting in bed?” he asks, annoyed but genuinely concerned.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be fine, _dad.”_

He smiles when he hears Billy snicker in the backseat. Hopper rolls his window back up without a word, but his face speaks plenty about how done he is.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy says, leaning outside his own window.

Steve turns to look at him a little too fast and staggers with the sudden movement. Billy gives him a lazy smile, sleepy and so fucking endearing.

“M’sorry I was an asshole, today,” he says, slurred but sincere.

Steve feels himself blush up to his ears. “It’s fine,” he says. When it doesn’t feel like enough, he adds, “I’m sorry Nancy thinks you’re an asshole.”

Billy laughs, and Hopper rolls his eyes.

“Okay, very touching, let’s go.”

He starts the cruiser and starts pulling out of the driveway. Billy leans all the way out of the car, enough for Steve to get worried he’s going to fall out, and croons,

“Let’s do this again sometime!”

Steve manages to make out Hopper’s tired, “Please don’t,” before they’re driving away into the night.

He smiles, wide and dumb, and stumbles into his house, then up to his bed, where he throws himself without even taking his clothes off. He’s out by the time his head touches the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's very late - or very early - when i'm posting this, i'm sorry for any typos etc


	12. X

  
Steve’s carrying way too many popsicles. He almost drops one with every step he takes to join the kids on the beach.

They’re building a massive sandcastle, almost as high as Steve himself. It’s even got an inner courtyard and little houses surrounding it. It’s got _moats_.

It’s hot with the sun beating on his bare shoulders, but there’s a breeze sweeping the beach, salty and refreshing. Everything is bright.

Steve drops a popsicle on Dustin, who immediately tears into the wrapper with a gleeful sound, then he goes to give one to each of the kids.

“Where’s Max?” he asks when he realizes he still has two spare popsicles.

“She’s over there,” Lucas says, pointing to the horizon.

Steve turns and squints. He can hear the sea more than see it, anything beyond the shore lost in infinite whiteness.

Max and Billy are walking next to each other, water up to their ankles, coming towards them. They’re holding surf boards and both are smiling, talking about something that Steve can’t make out.

Max sees them first, her smile turning impossibly wider. She grabs Billy’s hand and pulls him towards them.

Steve feels something unfurling in his chest, warm and pleasant.

“How was it?” he asks when they get near enough to hear him. Billy grins.

“ _Awesome_ ,” he says, so sincere and exhilarated Steve just has to grin back. “You should try it, pretty boy.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah, _sure_.”

“I can teach you. I promise I’ll show you a good time,” Billy purrs, smile turning sly.

“Ew, keep it in your pants, you two,” Max says next to him, then snatches one of the popsicles in Steve’s hands.

Steve goes red in the face, but she’s already ditching them to go help the others with their castle. Billy just laughs.

He moves to take the last popsicle from him, but Steve holds it out of his reach.

“What do I get in exchange?” he asks with a teasing smile. Billy’s eyes are sparkling.

“What do you want?” he says, but he’s already taking the last step separating them like he already knows.

Steve closes his eyes when he kisses him.

  
———

  
Steve knows he isn’t the brightest guy out there, alright? He’s made peace with that. But even _he_ has to face the facts and admit that he might, possibly, maybe, have a _little of a tiny bit_ of a crush on Billy Hargrove.

He’s liked people before, he knows the signs, and he’s pretty sure there’s no more denying it at that point. One can only dream about kissing someone so many times before it becomes obvious.

It was one thing wanting to bone the guy, but now he’s thinking of his smile and his laugh and it makes his heart rate pick up and it’s ridiculous how hard and fast it hit him. It’s also embarrassing that all it’s taken is a couple of dreamed kisses and two of the worst hangovers of his life, but hey, Steve’s always been a romantic.

Luckily - or not, depending on which angle you look at it - he’s too fucking hungover to have an existential crisis about it right now.

This day is a _bitch_ , and he’s barely been in school for five minutes. Everything is too bright, his head hurts, his limbs hurt, his stomach is constantly on the fence about wether or not it wants to keep things down. Even the rustle of paper is too much for him to handle, let alone loud teenagers talking over each other as they swarm the hallways around him.

The only thing that’s good about it, is that Billy seems to be suffering just as much as him.

He’s got his head in his locker when Steve sees him, grumbling to himself, sunglasses covering his eyes even though they’re inside. Steve can’t judge, he has his Ray-Bans on.

The sight still brings a smile to his face, because he’s a dumbass who went and started _liking_ him, and now just seeing him is enough to make him grin, apparently. But he tells himself it’s because it’s kind of funny seeing Billy glare at anyone who so much as looks in his general direction.

But when Billy spots him, he actually smiles back. Sure he looks like shit, and it’s small and tired, but it’s genuine, and Steve is a goner.

“Hey,” Steve says as he comes to lean against the lockers next to him, maybe a little too cheerful considering his head still feels like it’s about to explode at any second. “How’re you feeling?”

Billy’s eyes are hidden, but Steve can still tell he’s giving him a flat look. “Like I got run over by a truck.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve groans, sagging against the lockers. “It’s been forever since I got this drunk.”

“You’re rusty,” Billy says with a mocking smirk. “It’s a good thing I’m here to show you a good time, or you’d never get any action.”

Steve’s brain, ever so helpful, immediately finds an alternate meaning to his words and supplies nice images to accompany it. Before he has time to turn into a stuttering mess, Billy closes his locker a little too forcefully and the sound makes both of them wince.

“Like you’re doing any better,” Steve grumbles.

Billy huffs out a laugh. “Christ, I can barely remember anything,” he admits, rubbing his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. “Definitely remember you fucking _destroying_ that windshield, though.”

Steve snorts. “That was pretty cool, yeah.”

Someone clears their throat next to them, making them look over.

It’s Nancy. She’s holding her books close to her chest, looking torn between sheepishness and confusion as she looks between the two of them. Steve is too fucking tired to deal with this, but he’s also too tired to get angry. More than anything, he’s surprised to see her here after his outburst from yesterday.

“Hey, Nancy,” he says, not mean but not friendly either.

“Hey,” she says, voice soft, almost shy. “Can I speak to you?” Her eyes flicker to Billy suspiciously, not even trying to be subtle. Billy just stares back, purposely indifferent. 

Steve would rather get this over with, so he sighs,

“Sure.”

To his surprise, Billy moves to leave on his own accord. He must be exhausted, or else Steve’s sure he’d be making rude comments at Nancy, by now. But there’s a heaviness to the way he turns away that Steve doesn’t like. He grabs his sleeve without thinking.

Billy looks back at him, surprised eyebrows peeking above his glasses.

“See you later?” Steve asks, wishing it didn’t sound so hopeful.

Billy’s not as sharp as he usually is, maybe that’s why he allows himself to give a small, private smile, making Steve’s stomach flutter embarrassingly.

“Maybe,” he says, because he’s still an asshole. Then he turns and walks away, leaving Steve with Nancy and the prospect of a very unappealing conversation.

Steve sighs, schools his face back into deliberate neutrality, and turns back to her.

“What’s up?”

Her fingers tighten nervously around her books. She clears her throat, her eyes going to his sweatshirt for a second then back to his glasses. “Well, I… Okay, listen, I, uh… I— _I’m sorry,_ are we really going to act like this is _normal?”_

Steve frowns at the sudden change of tone, going from hesitant to incredulous too fast for his muddled brain to follow. “Uh?”

She gestures at the space Billy stood in a minute ago, looking frustrated. “Only yesterday you two were at the verge of starting a fistfight in a bathroom and now you’re thick as thieves? What’s going on?”

Steve shrugs indifferently. “We made up,” he says, like it isn’t a big deal to him either.

Nancy’s frowns deepens. She opens her mouth but can’t seem to find something to say. He crosses his arms, raises an expectant eyebrow. He won’t apologize first. Billy’s words from yesterday are still fresh in his mind, and maybe taking life advice from him isn’t a great idea, but he’s hungover: he doesn’t care. And so what if he wants to bother Nancy a little, uh? He can be a dick too, when he wants.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” he asks impatiently.

Her lips thin, and he thinks maybe she’s going to snap at him, but then her anger seems to deflate and she sighs. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. And about before too, I guess. I should have let you breathe,” she says, staring at her feet before glancing back up at him timidly. “I was just worried about you, you know?”

Steve’s shoulders sag. He can’t stay mad at her. Never could.

“I know. I’m sorry too,” he sighs, sincere. “I shouldn’t have snapped like that, it was all… A lot, all at once.”

She offers a small smile. “It’s okay. I get it.”

He smiles back, and before he knows it her arms are wrapped around him in a warm embrace. It’s comforting, and once he gets over the initial surprise he hugs back a little awkwardly. As he inhales the smell of her shampoo, he absently notes that he feels absolutely nothing else than friendly affection. Unlike yesterday, when he had Billy dozing off on his shoulder.

He’s fucked.

She eventually pulls away and looks up at him. “Jonathan’s sorry too, but we thought it might be better if he waited to see if you were really pissed off until he apologized in person,” she says with an embarrassed smile.

Steve snorts. “Even if I had been, it’s not like he was in any danger. I’ve been known to lose fights a lot.”

He knows he’s said the wrong thing when Nancy’s eyes harden again.

“ _Speaking of,”_ she says, and Steve rolls his eyes. She goes on, “Tell billy that I’m keeping an eye on him. And that I know how to use a gun, in case he ever pulls something like that again.”

It’s not what he was expecting, and Steve can’t help the surprised laugh he lets out.

“I’ll be sure to let him know,” he says, and Nancy’s shoulders relax, shy smile coming back to her lips.

“ _Sooo_ … Are you two, like, friends, now?” she asks, awkward with how she obviously has to force herself to say the word.

Steve doesn’t mean to freeze the way he does, but all he can think of right now is Billy’s lips barely brushing his as he exhales in his mouth. Maybe he’s thinking of a few other things that may have happened in his sleep, too.

Well, looks like it’s time for that existential crisis after all, uh.

He is kind of friends with Billy, isn’t he? Sure, he’s a dick, but Steve’s had his fair share of more than dickish moments too. And he’s funny. Funnier than Steve would have ever thought before he started hanging out with him. They’ve shared some stuff, had some real talk. 

Yeah, he’s pretty sure they’re friends. Steve just also happens to think he’s nice to look at, wants to kiss him and hear him laugh at his jokes, maybe invite him home to push him in his pool and get drunk with him again.

Fuck, why did he have to go and ruin it with a stupid crush?

“I, uh… I guess, yeah,” he says, strangled, praying to God Nancy can’t see his blush under his sunglasses.

And because she’s nice and not an ass like him or Billy, she lets it go, even though he can tell she wants to push. Instead she tells him he’s going to be late to class and leaves with a final little wave and a smile.

  
———

  
His headache has marginally lessened by the time he goes to pick up the kids. That, and apart from the ache that’s everywhere in his body, he feels ridiculously good. _Ridiculous_ , because he knows the sole cause of this cheerfulness is his inability to stop thinking about his little trip to the junkyard with Billy.

Dustin gets in the front, claiming best friends rights, and Lucas rolls his eyes at him dramatically. Even their banter - sounding about a million times louder than usual - isn’t enough to alter his good mood.

He leaves them to it, humming under his breath and tapping his fingers in rhythm on the wheel as he leaves the school parking lot.

After a minute, he realizes that the silence is starting to stretch unnaturally. He looks at them, finds them staring at him with twin frowns of confusion.

“What?” he asks, frowning back.

“Since when do you like Star Wars?” Lucas asks, sounding almost suspicious.

“Uh?”

Dustin does a condescending eye-roll, the one that means _You’re a dumbass_. “The Mos Eisley cantina theme, from Star Wars?” he says.

Steve stares blankly at the road in front of him. “Wow, I understood _nothing_ of what you just said.”

“ _You’re_ the one humming it,” Dustin retorts.

Steve shrugs. “I dunno, I probably heard one of you sing it and it stuck with me,” he says, maybe a little defensive.

The kids share one of their complicit looks, the ones that mean they’re having a whole conversation with their eyebrows. Steve doesn’t like when they do that, it usually ends poorly for him.

“O- _kay_ ,” Dustin drags out slowly, like he wants him to know he’s letting him off the hook. Then, without any kind of transition, he says, “Anyway, you look happy. Did Billy apologize?”

Steve gives him a flat look out of the corner of his eye. He should have known it was coming.

“He did. Though it’s really none of your business,” he says pointedly.

“What was that about? Max told us he was being more of a dick than usual, so we assumed he had something to do with it, but we don’t actually know anything else,” Lucas says, leaning in between their seats.

“What did I literally _just say_ about minding your own business?” Steve says, halfway between incredulous and exasperated.

“Dude, you can’t expect us not to get worried when you suddenly start hanging out with _Billy_ out of nowhere, and then look like he kicked your puppy only two days after that!” Dustin complains, gesturing wildly like it’ll help to drive the point home.

Steve sighs. He has a point, but he doesn’t want to have another conversation about whether or not Billy is a good influence today.

“Look, I really appreciate you guys being worried about me, but I’m _fine,_ alright?” he says. “I don’t need looking after, and I don’t know why everyone’s suddenly decided that they need to treat me like I’m gonna fall over if the wind blows too hard.”

There’s complete silence in the car for a beat. Then Dustin says, “Geez, _okay_. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, realizing he got a little worked up during his tirade. He didn’t think he had so much left in him after yesterday’s smashing therapy session. Maybe they should do that again. 

Or not, Hopper probably wouldn’t like tha— _oh God, Hopper._

Thankfully, they’re at a stop sign, because his forehead falls against the wheel with a thud, hard enough to hurt, and he lets out a long groan.

“What’s wrong?” he hears Dustin ask. 

He grimaces. “Nothing, just… I just remembered I gotta do something,” he says, waving his concern away as he straightens up again.

“That’s very vague,” Dustin says.

“And shady,” Lucas adds.

“And none of your concern?” Steve says incredulously. “ _Jesus,_ you guys are hopeless.”

The kids don’t take offense, they actually start snickering, and Steve can’t help but roll his eyes fondly. They might be meddling little shits, but they’re _his_ meddling little shits.

  
———

  
Once again, Steve finds himself at the station, shrinking under Florence’s judging look.

“Mr. Harrington,” she says, managing to make him feel bad for every single decision in his life with only two words. “Does your presence here have something to do with the Chief’s execrable mood, by any chance?”

Well, there goes his last hope of Hopper being happy to see him.

“Is he here?” he asks, because it’s better than answering the question. 

Florence gives him one last, judgmental raise of an eyebrow, then looks back down at whatever she was doing and waves him off to Hopper’s office.

When he knocks on his door, Steve gets a very gruff and very annoyed, “Come in,” as an answer. He considers just dropping it and leaving, maybe come back in a couple days when Hopper won’t be as susceptible of committing murder. But he opens the door before being able to convince himself.

Hopper looks up at him and immediately, his whole expression flattens. He has dark bags under his eyes. Steve fights the urge to turn around and sprint off.

“Hey, Chief,” he says, voice too high. He clears his throat. Hopper keeps staring at him. “Can I, uh…” He gestures vaguely at the chair in front of him.

Hopper tilts his head and Steve sits down, hands clasped nervously on his knees.

Hopper doesn’t say anything, obviously waiting on him to make the first move. Steve bites his lip.

“So… Thank you for not arresting us,” he says. It seems like a good way to start.

Hopper hums in acknowledgement. He picks up the files scattered in front of him, lines them up neatly and smacks them against the desk. _Hard_. The sound makes Steve wince, but he figures he deserves it.

“Sorry,” he blurts out, embarrassed but sincere. “We didn’t think anyone would hear us. We had… I guess we had some things to externalize.”

Finally, Hopper sighs, his shoulders dropping at the same time as his vaguely threatening posture. 

“Listen, I don’t care about whatever it is you two were doing,” he says dismissively. “Just don’t do it at three a.m., next time?”

Steve nods without missing a beat. He still feels bad for ruining Hopper’s night, but he’s unable to keep himself from smiling a little at how grumpy he sounds.

Hopper leans back against his chair and sighs. “Good, because I’m not dealing with your two drunk asses ever again.”

That startles a laugh out of Steve, and he sees Hopper fight back the beginning of a smile.

“I’m glad you’re working things out,” he continues, a little softer. “And I’m glad you’re not doing it alone.”

Steve says, “Yeah, me too,” and realizes he sounds like a lovesick fool. He hopes Hopper will impute it to his good mood.

“Don’t make me regret those words, though,” Hopper adds warningly. “No more drunk off your ass, smashing cars in the middle of the night.”

Steve chuckles, nods in agreement.

“Sure thing, Chief.”


	13. XI

  
Steve gets full nights of sleep almost every day, now. And he still dreams of Billy, except now it kind of makes sense that he does, because he thinks about him a lot during the day too. It’s fucking embarrassing how much he does, really. Even with how much he tries not to.

Again, maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away.

It doesn’t help that Billy actually seems to enjoy his company. He starts sitting with him at lunch, ditching Tommy and Carol without hesitation and ignoring the incredulous looks it earns him. It takes a couple days of it happening before Steve stops being surprised. He still feels ridiculously pleased every time, though.

Billy steals his food and keeps kicking his shins, and Steve pretends to mind more than he really does. Billy helps him with his homework once, and Steve realizes that _holy shit_ , Billy is _smart_. He knew he was, in a passing sort of way, but having it demonstrated like that does nothing to help him ignore his fluttering heart. Makes him think that he might have a thing for intelligence in general.

The first time the kids come out of school and find the both of them leaning against the Beemer and snickering, they stare at them incredulously until they notice they have an audience. Steve feels self-conscious for about one second, but then Billy says, “What are you looking at, shitheads?” and it’s not as mean as it once was.

“Hello to you too, asshole,” Max says, rolling her eyes. It seems to snap the others out of their surprise, and soon everyone is bickering and laughing and it’s as if it’s normal to have Billy there, now. Steve doesn’t realize he’s _relieved_ until much later.

  
———

  
It’s been a week and Steve is having lunch with Nancy and Jonathan, for once, when Billy slides into the seat next to him, grin as wide and dangerous as the open front of his shirt. With how much time they’re spending together now, he was bound to run into the two of them at some point. Doesn’t mean Steve isn’t nervous.

There’s palpable tension between Billy and Nancy, dislike that neither of them seem to want to voice but is painfully obvious to anyone present. Nancy is either too polite to start an argument herself or doesn’t want to do it with Steve there, and Billy seems to want to rile her up as much as possible without being too obvious about it. Jonathan’s too nice to be outright hostile towards him, but he still keeps a wary eye on him as they eat.

Steve figures they’ll get over it soon, if Billy keeps being as— well, again, not _nice_ , but as reasonably dickish as he’s been recently.

And after their talk at the junkyard, Steve can’t help but think - _hope_ , irrationally, stupidly - that maybe Billy doesn’t like Nancy and Jonathan because of what he knows of Steve and Nancy’s breakup. That maybe he’s protective of him, just a little bit.

It’s a nice thought. A very embarrassing one, but nice, still.

  
———

  
His parents call on Thursday. Well, his _mom_ calls, really. She tells him they’re extending their stay in Jersey, and he pretends to be surprised, pretends to care. The whole conversation still leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, always does.

He’s used to it

He’s fine. Until he’s not. All alone in his giant house and all the lights on. He can’t go to sleep, goes around in circles in his living room until it’s not enough and he turns on the TV for some kind of noise. His eyes constantly go to the pool outside, the slowly darkening woods beyond it. He itches for his bat.

His parents were supposed to be here. They were supposed to pretend they knew each other for a couple days. They’re supposed to give a shit. He wants to hit something.

Maybe Billy would be down to go break a few things with him. 

He picks up his keys and leaves before being able to think better of it. He doesn’t have Billy’s number, and he probably shouldn’t be calling it at this hour anyway, so he figures he’ll just do a detour on his way to the junkyard and see if he’s here.

It’s only once he’s parked opposite of the Hargrove residence that he realizes he can’t exactly go knocking on their door. Could be Neil answering, or Max’s mom. He doesn’t have any excuse to give them for his presence, and he doesn’t think that the real explanation would cut it.

“Good evening Mr. Hargrove, I was just wondering if Billy would like to come with me to smash some cars at the junkyard tonight?” he says sarcastically to himself, rolls his eyes.

And he can’t go knocking on Billy’s window, can he? Firstly because he doesn’t know where his room is, and secondly because that’s something he’d do with a girlfriend. Sneak around at night and knock on her window, ask her if she wants to hang out and mean _make out_. He can’t start thinking like that now, or he’ll extrapolate and end up concluding that he’s picking Billy up for a date. Which he’s _not_.

It’s just that he thinks he should offer, because— it’s a thing they do, and it’s _theirs_ , and— and Steve likes him. _Ugh_. He’s doing the exact opposite of ignoring it until it goes away.

He reaches under the passenger seat, pulls out his walkie - courtesy of the kids - and presses the button.

“Hey, Max? You there?”

He knows all of them can hear him, right now, hopes he can keep it as innocuous and short as possible. It’s embarrassing enough having to ask for the favor in the first place.

The walkie crackles to life, but it’s not the right voice that speaks up.

“Since when are you using your walkie? Over,” Dustin says.

“You’re the one who gave it to me, am I not allowed to use it?” he asks, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You have to say over! Over,” Dustin snaps back.

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I am not saying _over_ , Dustin.”

“Then how are we supposed to know you’re done talking?! Over.”

“Would you shut up, already?” Max snaps at them, cutting Steve’s next retort short. “What do you want, Steve?”

He’s grateful for the interruption, but it doesn’t really make saying what he wants to say any easier.

“Is Billy home?” he asks, as indifferently as he can.

There’s silence on the line for a few endless seconds, then,

“Uh, yeah? Why?” She sounds very confused by the question, which, yeah, fair.

“Can you tell him to meet me outside?” He winces as he says it, knows it’s weird and that he can’t explain it to them, because he can’t even justify it to himself.

“Why?” She’s suspicious, now. Great.

The back of his head thumps against his headrest as he looks up at the sky. “We have this thing planned,” he lies. “It’s, uh… Just, tell him I’m here, please?”

There’s another silence, and Steve is about to tell her to drop it, drive away and go hide his shame under his blankets for the rest of the night, when she says,

“Gimme a minute.”

“Thanks,” he exhales, maybe a little too heartfelt.

It’s an interminable wait, or it feels like it, at least. In actuality, it’s probably only three minutes before he sees a figure climb out of a window on the side of the house. It looks like Billy’s done this before, with the easy way he drops on the grass.

Steve feels his stomach tie into knots as Billy trots over to him, expression unreadable. He doesn’t know whether it’s from excitement or terror.

He lowers his window before Billy reaches him, gives him the best smile he can manage when he feels like he’s about to faint at any second.

“Hey,” he says, aiming for casual. It sounds strangled.

Billy looks behind him at his house once before leaning in, gripping the bottom of the window.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Harrington?” he hisses, and oh no, he’s not happy to see him.

Steve immediately panics.

“I’m sorry, I, uh…” Shit, he did not expect him to be so pissed. He expected surprise, maybe for him to laugh in his face. Not the blatant austerity he can see coming off of him right now.

“Hurry it up, yeah? My dad will have my ass if he sees me outside,” Billy snaps, voice low like he’s afraid Neil can hear him from all the way on the other side on the street. And oh. Steve didn’t think of that.

_God_ , he’s an asshole, how could he not think of that?

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Steve says, now also looking at the house like Neil is going to burst out the front door at any second. He stumbles over his words in his hurry to get them out, “Fuck, I didn’t think— I just— I wanted to go to the junkyard, but—”

He lets out a frustrated sigh, drops his shoulders. How could he have been so stupid? Billy, has other things to deal with than Steve and his issues.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come,” he says finally, looking apologetically at Billy. Only Billy doesn’t look as angry as he did before. Something’s eased on his face, his frown going from angry to determinate.

Before Steve can try and figure out what that expression means exactly, Billy’s opening the door and sliding into the passenger side.

“Let’s go, then,” he says, like he wasn’t about to bite his head off a minute ago.

Steve stares dumbfoundedly at him, and Billy raises his eyebrows at him expectantly.

“We gonna stay here or we gonna go break some shit, Harrington?”

The excited leap of his heart snaps Steve out of his incomprehension. He’s too happy for the excuse to get away from the house and who he knows to be inside, doesn’t waste time asking what just happened, just starts the car and drives off.

  
———

Steve doesn’t know what made Billy change his mind, if maybe he saw something on his face or if he, too, just didn’t want to be home tonight. Steve doesn’t care, is just happy to have him here.

They don’t talk on the way to the junkyard, and neither when Steve’s getting a crowbar out of the trunk of his car - Billy doesn’t ask.

It’s not as fun as it was last time. Last time Steve was drunk and happy. Now he’s moody because his parents don’t give a shit, and angry with himself for being scared of his fucking swimming pool.

Billy waits until after Steve’s done, when his hands hurt and he drops the crowbar to the ground, comes back to sit on the hood of the Beemer with him. He offers him a cigarette, for lack of a beer or a joint, and Steve takes it with shaking fingers.

“So, your parents, uh?” Billy says as Steve takes a deep pull.

He might have screamed a few things as he was smashing the crowbar around.

“It’s okay,” Steve says around a cloud of smoke, almost out of habit. Billy obviously knows it’s not.

“Shit sucks, man,” he says, and it’s lame, as far as emotional advice goes, but it’s comforting. Does the job. Steve feels better already, even though his hands are bleeding. He didn’t even notice until he looked down at the cigarette and found it stained red.

Billy notices, makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat. “Shit, you really went at it,” he says, and he’s taking Steve’s hand in his own, turning it around to assess the damage. 

Steve isn’t breathing.

“I’m fine,” he says, strangled. Luckily Billy isn’t looking up to see him flush to the tip of his ears.

“You should clean this up,” Billy says, and he’s hopping off the hood the next second. Steve misses the heat of his hands immediately, but at least he can get some air in his lungs.

Billy circles the car, goes to open the trunk and pull out the small first aid kit Steve keeps there now that he knows about monsters. Steve’s too dazed from the adrenaline crash to wonder about how he knows it’s there, it doesn’t even occur to him as strange.

Billy’s so fucking careful as he cleans the splinters in his palms, Steve wants to die. He can barely handle him when he’s harsh and mean, but like this? He’s _melting_. Even the sting of the disinfectant isn’t enough to distract him from how good Billy looks when he’s focused.

God, he’s not even drunk this time, and he’s thinking shit like that. It’s getting worse.

“There, you’re all set,” Billy says once he’s done wrapping his hands up.

“Thanks,” Steve says.

“Don’t mention it, I owed you one anyway,” Billy says. There’s the hint of a smile on his mouth, like he’s trying to cheer him up. It’s working, is the worst part.

“I’m sorry I showed up unannounced like that,” Steve says, meaning it. He still sees Neil Hargrove’s cold stare in his sleep, sometimes even when he’s awake and he closes his eyes. He’s terrified of the man, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for Billy.

“It’s fine,” Billy says. He’s usually more dismissive when it comes to that matter, but right now it sounds sincere. “I should probably head home, though. Don’t wanna push my luck.”

“Sure.” Steve tries not to sound too disappointed when he answers. It’s not that hard, when he can still feel the ghost of Billy’s touch on his skin. “Thank you for coming here with me.”

He means it, and hopes Billy knows it. He has a feeling he wouldn’t have been able to stay here on his own.

Billy smiles, and it’s one of the good ones. The realest ones. “Anytime.”

  
———

  
The woods, the house, the darkness.

_Not again_ , Steve thinks as his vision clouds, as he slams the door behind him.

“Harrington,” Billy says from somewhere in front of him. Steve feels ice in his veins at the thought of him here.

“Billy,” he breathes, throat seizing up in panic. “You have to leave, it’s coming, it’s—”

There’s the familiar sound of wood splitting open, the hiss of a mouth opening.

“Give me the bat,” Steve rushes out, reaching blindly in front of him. He hits Billy’s arm, latches onto it desperately. “Billy, I need the bat, I—”

“You gave it to me,” Billy says, and it’s determinate. “Remember?”

And Steve kind of does, thinks it was dark and he strangely didn’t mind, back then.

The demogorgon is almost on them, and even though Steve’s vision is completely black by now he can see its mouth.

“Besides,” Billy continues, and Steve feels his arm move under his hands, “you can’t fight for shit.”

He swings, and the bat hits the monster in the head. Steve can see, suddenly. Can make out every detail as Billy hits it again, and again, and brings the monster down on one of its knees. It roars up at him and Billy hits it one last time. It falls down.

It’s still moving, but then Steve’s being pulled away, in the hallway and into Will’s room. Everything is spinning around him, the only thing solid being Billy’s hands on his shoulders, grounding him.

“You’re safe,” he’s saying. “You’re safe.”

And his heart is beating in his ears, his blood is ice-cold, but Steve believes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter was 99% improv on my part, sorry if it feels like it. my notes for what i wanted to happen here were “some whatever anecdotes and a dream about Billy saving’s Steve’s ass with the bat”.


	14. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's super super short, sorry. i just didn't plan out my stuff correctly and now i have this and it doesn't fit in the other chapters, so consider it kind of an interlude

Steve feels great the next day. Whether it’s their time at the junkyard or the good night’s sleep that followed, he doesn’t really care. He’s practically floating.

Until Dustin climbs in his car, that is.

It’s fine for about five seconds. Steve offers a bright smile and Dustin narrows his eyes at him.

“You’re alive. Good,” Dustin says flatly as he buckles his seatbelt.

Steve frowns. “What?”

Dustin shrugs dramatically. “We were kind of worried Billy had murdered you, but you look fine. In fact, you look great.”

The words might be nice, but they sound like criticism, somehow

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Steve asks suspiciously.

“Because it’s _weird_. What did you guys even do? Max said that Billy came home at like, eleven, and that he was _smiling_. I didn’t even know his face could do that, it’s creepy.”

Steve feels knots tie pleasantly in his stomach at the thought that _he did that_ , feels warm all over, and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling too wide. That’s it, he’s turned into a thirteen year old girl.

“We just hung out,” he says as nonchalantly as he can.

“Yeah? And what happened to your hands?” Dustin asks accusingly, nodding at the bandages around his palms.

It takes him an incriminating beat to answer. He can’t tell him how he got them. It’s too complicated, and anyway, Dustin doesn’t have to know about his problems.

“I fell.”

Dustin scoffs. “Bullshit.”

“Why does it matter?” Steve says, getting frustrated.

“Did Billy hurt you?”

Steve does a double take between him and the road. “What? No! What?”

“Don’t act like _I’m_ the one being weird!” Dustin snaps. “You’re the one hanging out with him, and picking him up for _dates_ in the middle of the night—”

“I— It wasn’t a _date!”_ Steve protests, voice too high.

“That’s not the _point!”_ Dustin says, throwing his hands up. “The point is that you’re disappearing with him in the middle of the night to go on secret meetings, and you don’t want to tell me about it!”

There’s something in his voice, and Steve almost misses it because Dustin is covering it up with accusation and high-pitched indignation. Suddenly, he thinks he understands why Dustin’s being so difficult.

“Are you jealous?” he asks, surprised, and realizes maybe he should have been more tactful when Dustin makes an outraged noise.

“What? _No,”_ he scoffs, and yeah, he definitely is.

Steve feels a surge of affection for him and smiles - not too much, he can’t risk offending him. He looks at him, sees he’s got his arms crossed and is now glaring at the road in front of him, pouting.

“Dustin, I’m not going to stop hanging out with you because I’m friends with Billy, alright?” he says.

“You’re saying that _now_ , but then you’ll start ditching D&D night because you’ll be with him, and then you’ll ditch _us,”_ Dustin says, and his voice is all wrong, small even though he’s trying to sound angry.

“Come on, is that really what you think of me?” Steve asks, pretending to be offended.

Silence, then a begrudging, “No.”

“Then relax, okay? I’m not going to ditch you,” Steve says with a smile. “Who would teach me about Berserkers and science shit, if I did?”

He was hoping to get him to lighten up with the quip, but Dustin’s still sulking.

“I just don’t see why you can’t just do the stuff you do with him with us too,” he mutters.

Steve sighs. He combs a hand through his hair nervously. Jesus, if he _knew_.

“It’s not— Look, there are also things that I do with you that I can’t do with him, alright?” he says. “Can you imagine Billy watching Star Trekking or whatever—”

“Star Trek.”

“Yeah, that. Can you imagine Billy watching that? Or playing D&D?” Steve pauses, waits for Dustin to snort before he continues. “Yeah, me neither. It doesn’t mean anything if I do some stuff with him too. He’s not _more_ my friend than you, okay?”

Dustin doesn’t answer immediately, and Steve has to look up at the road eventually. Finally, he hears,

“Okay.”

It sounds less moody. Steve smiles, satisfied with the answer.

“He’s still an asshole, though,” Dustin adds, and he laughs.

“That he is,” he says, tilting his head in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from now on i've got everything (mostly) planned out. i keep getting sidetracked because i improvise the dialogues every time and keep adding stuff, but we should be done by chapter 21!
> 
> it's in a while, i know, but i have very precise scenes that are stuck in my head since the beginning and that i need to put somewhere. so be prepared for this mess of a fic to get even worse


	15. XIII

  
Steve isn’t at the Byers or at his place. It’s a new house, he doesn’t think he’s ever been here before. But he recognizes it somehow. Details, like the worn couch, or the stain on the wallpaper next to the TV.

There’s a deafening crash, a low voice right behind him.

“Are you talking back to me, _son?”_

His blood freezes over.

He turns around, sees Billy on the kitchen floor with blood on his face, so much blood. He’s looking up at Neil with wide, terrified eyes. His elbows dig into the broken glass that’s strewn all around him. A lot of it, pieces from whatever Neil hit him with.

Steve can’t move, his breath stuck in his throat, and the edges of his vision blur as Neil kneels down to grab at Billy’s collar.

“I asked you a question, Billy,” he says.

“Please,” Billy says, almost a whisper.

Neil bares his teeth at him, and moves too fast for Steve to track his fist as it collides with Billy’s face.

“Stop!” Steve yells, desperate, and it surprises even himself that he’s able to talk.

Neil and Billy’s heads snap his way.

“Harrington,” Billy says on a shaky exhale, sounding shocked. “No—”

“What did you say?” Neil hisses, and he moves to get up, eyes icy. Steve’s heart is two seconds away from cracking his ribs open. But then Billy’s hand shoots up, grabs Neil’s arm and pulls him back.

It isn’t even a millisecond before Neil hits him again, sends his head reeling back against the kitchen cabinet with a loud crack.

Neil leans down, mean grin splitting his face in two as he says something to Billy that Steve can’t make out. He presses two fingers against his forehead, digging in the skin and smearing the blood there.

Billy shakes his head, mutters something back frantically.

Steve’s vision is swimming, he feels like he’s going to faint. He takes a step forward and Neil looks at him again, his grin feral and inhuman.

“I’ll teach you about respect,” he says, and his voice turns into a hiss at the end.

Suddenly, his face starts morphing, distorting grotesquely, splitting in the middle, and Steve watches in horror as it opens up, revealing sharp fangs spiraling down into nothingness.

The monster’s roar covers up his own scream as it charges him.

He falls out of his bed, this time. He scrambles to get his back against his bed, to have his room in front of him so he can see what’s in there.

It’s dark. The only sound is his frantic breathing.

“Shit,” he whispers, voice raw.

He hadn’t had a nightmare this bad since— uh. More than a week. And now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t had _any_ nightmare at all. He hadn’t even realized.

Guess that’s why they came back with a vengeance. Well, it was bound to happen again someday. He was still doing better; just because he woke up in a cold sweat one night didn’t mean it would go back to how it was before.

He hoped, at least. He was definitely not sleeping tonight, though. Not after this one.

  
———

  
He catches glimpses of Billy at school, of his hair as he turns a corner and disappears, of his eyes from the other end of a hallway, but he doesn’t see him properly until practice.

He can’t help the sour twist of his gut when he spots the bags under his eyes, the edge of something dark behind the blue of his irises. It’s a bad day.

In the past couple weeks Steve’s gotten good at making the difference between Billy’s regular glare and Billy’s “I’m going to kill whoever looks at me wrong” glare. It’s definitely the second one, today.

Images of Neil’s hateful eyes flash in his mind. Billy doesn’t have any new bruises on his face, but Neil could have aimed for places where he could cover it up. Seems like he’s got practice with that.

Steve’s snapped out of his thoughts when someone slaps him on the back and tells him to get on the court. He forces his fists to open - didn’t even realize he’d closed them in the first place - and briefly crosses Billy’s gaze as he jogs to join the others. He barely even acknowledges him, and Steve pretends not to be offended. He knows better than to expect anything else when he’s like that, but still. He thought that maybe, since they were friends, now, he wouldn’t shut him off. Tough luck.

He’s not really in the mood for practice. Too tired, too caught up in his own head. He keeps replaying his nightmare, seeing blood on Billy’s face.

To add to it, Tommy’s decided to be a dick. He keeps shoving Steve, plays way meaner than necessary, taunts him constantly. Stuff about Nancy - like it isn’t getting old - or jabs at his - admittedly poor - performance today. It’s infuriating, but it’s not really hurtful. It’s been a while since Steve’s given a shit about what Tommy says. So he ignores him as best as he can and tries not to take the bait, even if it means having to grind his teeth to dust.

Surprisingly, it’s not him who snaps first.

“Shut your goddamn mouth for once in your life, Hagan,” Billy barks after the nth insult thrown Steve’s way.

Steve looks up, sees his icy glare directed at Tommy. Tommy who just sneers at him, like he has no survival instinct.

“Fuck you, Hargrove,” he says, and slaps the ball out of Steve’s hands while he’s distracted.

That’s new. Last Steve knew, those two were still on speaking terms, even with Billy hanging out with Steve more often than not, now. Tommy thrived off the attention being a lackey of the School King got him, so Steve had assumed he wouldn’t revolt. Apparently he’s gotten tired of it, though.

Steve tries to catch Billy’s eyes, ask a silent “What’s that about?”, but Billy’s already jogging the opposite way.

It’s five minutes to the end of practice and Steve almost thinks he’s going to get off the court unscathed, but then of course, Tommy has to prove a point.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but one second he’s trying to get to the ball and the next, he’s on the ground with the breath knocked out of his lungs. He gapes at the ceiling as he gets his air back, absently hears some kind of commotion going on next to him. With the way his shoulder is throbbing, he’ll probably have a very nice bruise to thank Tommy for.

When he pushes up on his elbows, he finds the coach with a hand on Billy’s chest, pushing him away from Tommy who’s cradling a bloody nose. There’s a lot of yelling going on, and he doesn’t catch any of it, but it’s pretty easy to guess what happened.

“He broke my nose!” Tommy is shrieking, dripping blood all over the floor.

“Too bad I didn’t break your jaw, it’d be nice to get some silence for a change,” Billy sneers.

The coach pushes him back again.

“Hargrove, _out,”_ he hisses, sounding like he’s already said it a couple times. “Go get your head on straight and get your ass to the principal’s.”

Billy’s nostrils flare, and he looks like he’s entertaining the idea of sucker-punching him for a second. The muscles in his jaw work, and after a beat he storms off to the locker room.

“He broke my nose!” Tommy repeats, and Steve wants to roll his eyes.

Coach does it for him. “Stop whining, Hagan,” he says. “You’re getting blood all over the court, go see the nurse.”

It’s nice that he’s as done with Tommy’s shit as the rest of them, at least.

Tommy makes an offended noise, garbled by the blood running down his face, but the coach tells the others to start doing laps before he has time to add anything else. He looks over at Steve, who’s still on the floor.

“You okay, Harrington?” he asks disinterestedly.

Steve looks at the locker room door that just closed behind Billy. “Uh… I think I might have sprained something. Is it okay if I skip this one out?”

The coach just rolls his eyes and waves him off. Steve barely pretends to limp as he trots away to the locker room.

When he gets in, Billy’s digging in his locker for a fresh t-shirt, the sweaty one discarded on the floor. His back is turned to him, and he doesn’t look behind him to see who just entered. He probably knows it’s him, honestly.

Steve shuffles his feet awkwardly, clears his throat.

“So, um… Thank you,” he says after a while, when it becomes clear that Billy’s not going to say anything.

Billy makes a harrumphing sound in acknowledgement. He’s not denying that he punched him because of Steve, but Steve can’t dwell on that now.

“You okay?” he asks, because sure, Billy’s prone to bursts of violence, but even for him that was a lot.

Billy turns around and Steve’s eyes involuntarily flick down to his chest. For once, it’s just to make sure he doesn’t have any new bruises. So what if his dream has left him a little on edge, uh?

He can’t spot fresh ones. The old ones are on the way to healing completely, the biggest ones yellowing, and the rest already faded - finally. Not like Steve was keeping track or anything.

Billy rolls his eyes and scoffs, bringing his attention back to his face. “What was it you said? About not being made out of sugar?”

Steve scowls. He’s about to say it’s not the same, but he stops himself because, well, it kinda is, isn’t it? Now he can sympathize with Nancy for worrying over an asshole who won’t accept getting looked after.

“Sorry,” he mutters, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

Billy sighs and pulls his shirt on. “Whatever. It’s not that,” he says tiredly, fire bleeding out of him almost visibly. “I’ve just been having fucked up dreams, lately. I can’t fucking sleep.”

Steve huffs, getting déjà-vu from a talk with Nancy a couple weeks back.

He opens his mouth to ask more about that because, well, he knows a thing or two about fucked up dreams, maybe he can help, but he’s cut off by voices coming from the other side of the door, growing closer.

Billy’s gone before Steve can say anything else.

  
———

  
It’s _pouring_ outside. Steve’s still moody from practice, from Tommy’s stupid whining and Billy’s cold shoulder, needs to catch up with the sleep he’s lost the night prior. The last thing he wants is to leave his house.

“Of course I’ll pick him up, Ms. Henderson. It’s no problem,” he says in his phone cheerfully.

“Oh, dear, you are _saving_ me, Steven. Thank you so much.”

He loves Claudia Henderson, really does. She makes great pies and always insists on paying him for gas whenever she sees him (he never takes it, but it’s nice that she offers), but right now he wants to hang up on her.

Apparently, she was supposed to go get Dustin and Will at Mike’s, but her car is giving her trouble. Needs to go to the garage, get something changed - Steve kind of zoned out at that part, to be honest. She always talks a lot. Long story short, she couldn’t go, and of course, Steve was her first option, being the _nice, charming young man_ he is - her words, not his.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice happy, but he’s staring at his wall with empty eyes as he talks.

He hangs up and heaves out a very long, very tired sigh.

  
———

  
When he gets to the Wheelers’, he almost has a minor panic attack.

The Camaro’s in the driveway, and Billy is standing on the porch, talking with Nancy.

Steve stays frozen for a very long moment, tries to somehow read on their lips to decipher what they’re saying, like pretending he can read lips will make it true. He can’t, of course, but he sees the very obvious scowl on Nancy’s face, the angry slant of her mouth.

He practically jumps out of the car, trots over to them as casually as he can manage.

“… think I do,” Billy says, and it’s all Steve catches before they both go silent. They glare at each other until he clears his throat, like the first one to break eye-contact will have lost some kind of unspoken challenge.

“Hey,” Nancy says, turning to him with a forced smile.

“Hey,” he says carefully, glancing at Billy, who just tucks his hands in his pocket and leans against the wall nonchalantly. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t miss the look they exchange before Billy says, “Dandy.”

Steve eyes Nancy for confirmation. She gives a tight-lipped smile and a small nod and he lets himself relax a little.

“I’ll go get the kids,” Nancy says. She takes a step back, a silent offer to get inside while they wait.

Steve steps inside, and Billy follows after only a second of hesitation. Nancy gives him one last look before closing the door and leaving. Steve doesn’t know if he should be relieved they’re not actively trying to kill each other or worried that they’re just waiting to do it when no one is watching.

He’s about to ask Billy what the hell was that about when Ms. Wheeler appears in the hallway.

“Steve, dear!” she says, and he forces on a smile. She spots Billy next to him and he’s sure he’s not imagining the way her cheeks tint pink. “And Billy! Well, aren’t I lucky.”

“Ms. Wheeler,” he hears Billy say before he has a chance to. “Always a pleasure.”

It’s practically a purr, and Steve turns to gape at him as Ms. Wheeler goes a little pinker, looking utterly charmed. Billy’s pulled out _the smile,_ and yeah, Steve kind of gets it, but still. It’s _Ms. Wheeler,_ for Christ’s sake.

She offers Billy her hand to be shaken and Steve feels like he’s invisible, all of a sudden.

“Here for your sister, I presume?” she asks.

“You guessed it,” Billy says, with a small chuckle, and it’s like he’s a whole new person. He’s miles away from the Billy that broke Tommy’s nose only a few hours earlier.

Steve is kind of outraged. Because he never managed to get her to like him when he was dating Nancy, so he’d assumed she was just Like That, but now she’s fawning over Billy like it’s going out of style, so that means she just had something against _him_. And also because, well. Maybe he kind of hates that Billy’s turning on the charm for her.

Luckily, the kids come stumbling out of the basement at that moment, sparing him the horror of watching Billy flirt with _Nancy’s mom, oh my God._

“Well maybe we wouldn’t have had to if you’d just shocked him!”

“And how was I supposed to cast anything with vines all over me, uh?”

“You shouldn’t have touched the damn things in the first place!”

“Kids, language,” Ms. Wheeler says, hands on hips as she’s apparently snapped out of her daze by all the boys talking over each other.

“Sorry,” they all say disinterestedly.

Dustin spots him and breaks into a huge smile. Steve would be flattered if he wasn’t busy pouting about the whole Ms. Wheeler thing. 

“Steve! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Your mom couldn’t come,” he says. “You ready to go?”

Both him and Will nod and start exchanging their special handshakes with the others. It’s a flurry of hands.

Max comes to stand in front of Billy and juts a thumb over her shoulder. “Can we give Lucas a ride home? It’s not far.”

Steve sees Billy frown, sees Max frown right back, and he swears they have a whole conversation using only minimal brow movements and flaring nostrils. He’s pretty sure Max is winning the argument, with the way Billy’s arms tighten where he’s crossed them over his chest. It’s in moments like these that he’s reminded that they’re very much siblings, despite all their insistance on the “step” part.

“Sure,” Billy says finally, only mildly annoyed. He looks at Lucas, who doesn’t look as scared as Steve might have thought, only surprised. “You alright with that?”

It’s weird he’s even asking that, but Steve feels like he doesn’t even know what normal is, right now.

“Yeah,” Lucas says after exchanging a look with Max.

“Alright, then. Get in the car,” Billy says, waving them outside.

They go, and Dustin and Will follow right behind, ducking under Steve’s arm as they do. Steve’s left with Billy and Ms. Wheeler, and he wants nothing more than to follow after the kids.

“It was nice to see you, Billy,” Ms. Wheeler says, batting her eyelashes. “You too, Steve.”

He has to fight hard to keep his offense from showing on his face. _You too?_ He was the one who dated her daughter for a year! If anything, _Billy_ should be the _you too_ in this sentence.

“Until next time,” Billy says, and for an awful second Steve thinks he’s going to pull her hand to his mouth and fucking _kiss it._ Thankfully, he just lets it go after a very long, very uncomfortable moment.

“See you, Ms. Wheeler,” Steve says, and he doesn’t mean for it to come out as fake as it does, but it’s not like she even notices.

They get out and start walking away, Steve definitely noticing that the door doesn’t close immediately after they turn away.

When they’re far enough, Steve leans towards Billy to hiss under his breath, “What the hell was _that.”_

Billy just shrugs, but there’s the start of a smile there. “She’s hot,” he says indifferently.

And Steve— wants to be upset, but this is just— _ridiculous_ , and Billy’s eyeing him with a playful glint in his eyes and Steve snorts out a disbelieving laugh.

“She’s like, _forty,”_ he says, checking behind them to make sure she’s not listening in, but the door’s closed.

“Moms dig me, dude,” Billy says, shrugging again like he’s saying _What can you do?,_ and Steve can’t help it, just bursts out laughing.

Billy joins in almost immediately, and it’s happy and real and Steve missed it, is glad he gets to hear it today, even with how bad the day started.

This one, this Billy, is definitely his favorite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i was starting to feel my hyperfixation slip away from me, but then i was blessed with some INCREDIBLE fanart for this fic, so i went back and added it where it belonged. if you want to check it out it’s in chapters 1, 2, 4, 5 and 11, I AM MELTING, this sent me back into full obsession mode holy shit


End file.
